Drop Dead Engwand
by Troublesome Dragon
Summary: Canada convinces America to tell some of his personal early history with Britain. Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, Britain is hell bent on keeping custody of America despite Alfred already having a mom. No one seems to take his side on the matter, but what do they know?
1. The Meeting

Drop Dead Engwand

"Do you really want to hear it Canada?" America asked, seated so his arms and legs extended across the couch, taking up its entirety. Well, Canada being so close to America geographically and therefore easier to reach, naturally tended to tire of hearing America's stories much quicker than let's say Hong Kong or Australia. However, he did want to know this particular story. It did help he played a small role in it, and that America refused to talk about it willingly. Today, Canada had the advantage of finding Alfred in a talkative mood and holding, well, let's call it apple juice for the kiddies at home.

He nodded, and America took a swig of said apple juice, becoming rosy in the cheeks. Alfred delicately turned the glass without saying a word, making Matthew think he'd lost his chance. Ultimately, Alfred put the apple juice down, staring at the ceiling as if that would help him picture the scene. Eventually, he spoke, and Canada closed his eyes in an attempt picture it as well.

_Well, the problems really started after I met England and France as you well know. Luckily, Sweden, Finland, and The Netherlands generally left me alone, granted, none of them realized I was a nation at the time. _

"Eh, 'ere you go?" America asked, walking as fast as his little feet would carry him. Alfred had seen some of these strangers before, albeit while he was between his mother's legs which only granted a partial view of what was going on. He was curious about these men, especially once he had figured out some of them were like him in ways that involved more than a similar complexion. The man stopped and crouched down to meet his eye level.

"Do you have a home little boy?" the man asked, and America nodded. The man frowned, probably thinking he was lying. Alfred turned his attention to some nearby trees. He should return his own camp soon before his people attacked the poor man. The man, Finwand, if he remembered correctly, extended his hand. America backed away, having seen settlers snatch rabbits this way. He had yet to find any of them. Alfred fled in a knee jerk reaction when Finwand made a motion to grab him anyway, leaving Finland to wonder if he had scared the boy off. He had.

_Then, of course, came the infamous scene where I chose England instead of France. Unfortunately, there was a slight communication error that made the next couple of weeks a living hell._

"I'm so glad we are going to live together from now on," Britain said, picking up America who rather liked the attention. His mother rarely picked him up, unless they needed to move quickly, or there was a risk of him drowning.

"I'm going to have the builders make a house right over there," he said, pointing to a spot in the open field near the stranger's village which his mother had told him to avoid. Well, technically, she had told him not to go into the village alone so this was probably still okay.

"Um, I have a mom," America said, deciding that would clear the issue up. England frowned, confusing America. People only looked at him that way when he made a mistake. He was just being honest.

"You do?" Britain said, using an ominous tone that terrified America, suddenly hanging out with Britain wasn't so fun anymore.

_Canada don't give me that look. I know it seems like something I should have mentioned to the two right away, but at the time, the term brother was more of a token phrase to solidify one's bond with an ally. I had no idea that they wanted me to live with them. Needless to say, Britain didn't take the news well. _

"Then, why the hell didn't you bloody mention it before?" he said, puffing his cheeks and clenching his fist in a way that greatly contrasted with America's first impression of him, well, maybe not the scary blue face.

America took a few quick steps back, tripping and falling on his bottom. America's eyes welled up with unshed tears, and he started to sniffle. England picked him up by his white robe. America started crying uncontrollably. He didn't want to end up like his lost bunnies. The man held him close and began rocking him back and forth. He squirmed and fought the growing drowsiness. Despite his previous anxiety, America found himself closing his eyes. Britain promptly shushed him and increased the tempo of the rocking. Eventually, America couldn't remember why he wanted to stay awake so badly and fell asleep. When he woke up, America found himself in a tent alone and quickly rose. The tent was nothing like the mud huts that he was currently used to, and he ran in a panic only to be caught by Britain on his way out.

"Well, look who is finally up," Britain commented idly. America kicked and struggled, knowing his mom was probably aware of his absence by now. He seemed to get the idea and set him down but snatched him up again when America tried to bolt. When he kept struggling, the man put him down again. This time, Britain held America in place and would not let go no matter what he tried. America eventually gave up running in place and sat down.

"Here," Britain said, handing him what America thought was a rock. He set the scone down on the floor where he thought it belonged, making Arthur sigh.

"You're not used to anything but slabs of meat are you?" he asked, and America shook his head.

"Orn, eans, squa, blublu, oup, bre," America babbled out other food, but Britain scratched his head in wonder.

"It's very cute you're trying to speak, but I can't understand a word you're saying," he said, making America pout.

"Hey, it's good, see?" Arthur demonstrated eating another scone

_I was willing enough to try it once. _

"Bweh," America said, scrunching up his face.

_He just gave up and gave me meat. _

"Fine, we'll introduce you to vegetables later," Britain vowed, making America turn around as he munched on his meat.

"Orn?" he asked.

"No, I do not know where you're bloody "orn" is," he said. America swallowed the last bit of meat and crossed his arms.

_I was pretty ticked by that point._

"Don't go wandering by yourself,"Britain demanded, but America paid him no mind and disappeared into some nearby bushes. Before Britain could snatch him up again, his mom stepped forward .

"Go home," she said, stringing her bow. America hid behind her although she scolded him in one of her many tongues to go hide in the bushes. The man took out his sword, and America's eyes gravitated toward the shining object. He'd never seen anything like that before.

"Make me," Britain said, wearily eyeing the bow as he stepped forward.

"Go hide, if I do not come back soon, run to the village, they will protect you and teach you what you need to know," his mom said. Britain attacked, and his mom held him off with her bow, but the sword made a considerable crack in the wood. America had a bad feeling but listened all the same.

_As far as England was concerned, he had won me fair and square, and it didn't matter that I had a mom. He would simply accustom me to a European lifestyle. Luckily, I was pretty bull headed, but hey, that's another story. If you catch me in a good mood again, maybe, I'll tell you the rest. _

_**I cannot stress enough that this was inspired by an impromptu skit my cousin and I did and is not supposed to be historically accurate. Also, Britain generally comes across as a bit of a jerk when I voice America. Don't take it too seriously. It's supposed to be funny, but unlike the quiz, the tone shifted considerably after I wrote it down.**_ _**Hopefully, you still end up enjoying it anyway. **_


	2. The Teaching

The Teaching

"Hey, come on, it's not that late," Canada said, following behind America as he took his prized jacket from the rack. America grinned candidly, opening the door and letting a cool breeze in. Canada grabbed a chunk of his jacket before he could go, hindering him slightly. He turned around, releasing the leather from Canada's hold, sighing.

"If I stay over, maybe, I can get through the story, but then, you'll be all awkward when the ending comes around," America said, and Canada decided it was time to play the pancake card. It was impossible to overdo the pancake card.

"Stay and I'll make pancakes in the morning," Canada said, causing America to stumble mid step as he pondered the offer. He did like pancakes, and thankfully, it worked in Canada's favor today.

"Fine," America said, coming inside and shutting the door. Although by now, it was impossible to get rid of the chill in the air; he kept his jacket on because of this and returned to his seat. Alfred eyed the "apple juice" but thought better of it and simply sat down.

_I know I kinda left it at a cliffhanger earlier, but it actually worked out okay. I made it to the village, and my mother did find me later. Canada put the hockey stick down._

"Mom," America said, charging her head first. His mom caught him, but she faltered noticeably. Alfred clung to her neck, and she pressed her body against the tree to anchor herself. Then, she slowly slid down onto the grass to rest

"Are you okay?" America asked, and she nodded, breathing heavily. He took her word for it, putting it out of his mind. His mother released her hold on him and held onto her leg, hissing quietly. Alfred looked at her blankly, unsure what to do. He jumped a little when she ripped part of his robe to wrap her leg. Finally, she seemed to stop shaking and smiled at him. He smiled back, somewhat surprised by the strong embrace that followed.

"Ayashe, what were you doing with that man?" she asked, and America understood now that the hug wasn't so much a sign of affection than a way to keep him from escaping in her debilitated state. He didn't even try, nestling closer and vaguely mumbling a response.

"I told you to stay away from them," she reminded him.

"But he's pathetic. He'll never survive without me," he explained in some tongue or other. He hadn't actually learned any of the languages yet. There were so many, and his mother understood all of them. Instead, he naturally picked up whatever language a nearby tribe spoke. Annoyingly, this did not seem to apply to the strangers.

"Funny, he seemed plenty capable to me," she said, unlatching his arms and pushing him off. He frowned, more so, when it took her three tries to get up successfully. Once she was standing, albeit with the aid of the tree, he relaxed. They walked at a snail space, and America soon occupied himself running around whichever tree she happened to be hanging onto at the time. This did not last long, and she only crossed three trees, before she signaled him to stop with a whistle. He skid to a halt and looked up attentively.

"Ayashe, I need you to tell one of the villagers that I am here and wounded," she said, allowing herself to sink onto the grass once more. America nodded, flitting away.

_The elders sent some young men to retrieve my mother. They wouldn't let me go though. No matter what tribe I was in, it was their habit to cram as much information into me as possible. _

"Ageni, it is rare for you to leave him with one tribe for very long. Have you charged us with his training?" the elder asked as America half listened to some man tell him about hunting. He perked up immediately when Ageni came into the room. Remembering her wounded leg, he grabbed on tightly to her arm instead. This almost unbalanced her, but with the help of a young man who helped bring her, she did not fall. For a moment, she seemed unable to respond or even focus on anything in particular. Finally, she nodded, coughing and pointing to her leg with her free arm. He nodded gravely and asked a nearby tribesman to bring a healer.

"I was hoping that the little one was exaggerating," he said, and she smiled, ruffling his hair.

"Not today, and truthfully, I was hoping to have all the tribes teach him their ways, but I fear that is no longer an option," she said, and he understood, signaling the men to leave. The tall one that had babbled on about hunting said that he would see Alfred soon. America barely registered it. When the healer came in, it was all but forgotten. His mom would be better soon.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" the elder asked, and America wondered why his mother suddenly squeezed his hand.

"Start his training now," she said, and the elder left. America lay on his mother's lap, and she stroked his hair. They finally seemed to be safe, but America was soon taken by the huntsman. Despite his struggles to break free, his mother simply watched.

"Ayashe, behave," she told him, and he all but gave up after that.

_My mom was given treatment, and my training began. The first day I learned how to respect and care for nature. Unfortunately, there wasn't a second day._

America sighed, somewhat annoyed. The man had told him that he couldn't just summon the deer and kill it, not that he had wanted to in the first place. Apparently, he had to find it first and hunt it honorably. No one seemed to take into account that it was more stressful on the deer this way, but his mother wanted him to learn this stuff so he would.

Alfred had yet to find the man again, and he was weary of being alone after what happened to his mom. There was some rustling in the bushes, and Alfred tensed.

"Deer?" Alfred asked, but he quickly realized it was the pathetic man when some of his mysterious rocks appeared. He must have dropped them. Alfred picked up the rocks and offered them to the bush where the man was surely hiding.

"Ocks?" he asked, only for a pair of arms to snatch him up. The scones fell to the ground, and Britain smirked triumphantly.

"Gotcha," he said as America punched him with his little fists. Britain winced a little and cursed under his breath but was otherwise unaffected.

"Eally? yew 'uck," he said as Arthur rolled his eyes. America stopped struggling for a minute. Had he finally understood him?

"I know you think you belong here, but haven't you noticed that you're different from them?" he asked, and America frowned, kind of knowing where he was going with this.

"Eh," he said as it had been pointed out to him often enough by the tribes when he did something wrong, but he honestly didn't care. As they walked, Britain had been distancing himself from the forest, and the huntsman had yet to look for him. America prepared to bite him, but Arthur quickly covered his mouth so he only tasted a mouthful of leather from his glove. It might have still hurt him, judging by the way he flinched and unhooked his jaw, but Alfred disliked the taste of leather and did not attempt to bite him a second time.

"My point is that I am more suited to raise you than that savage woman," he said as America tried to forcibly release himself from Britain's grip. He was surprisingly strong for a wishy-washy man.

"Why?"he asked, yawning when Britain started to rub his back and hum. He had been running around the forest all day.

"You're already exhibiting violent behavior because of her inferior ways of thinking. Worst of all, you can't even speak right," he said, and America scowled, mumbling a response back.

_Then, of course, I fell asleep. He liked to use that trick a lot, and to this day, I'm paranoid about falling asleep._

America woke up in the strange dwelling again and this time, tried to sneak out. Britain, however, spotted him right away and handed him a fish

"Here, you must be hungry by now," Britain said, and America took the fish, rubbing his eyes. He ate it begrudgingly.

_I did like fish. _

America noticed that Britain didn't have a fish. He pointed to his fish and tilted his head.

"I'm afraid, I couldn't catch any for myself," Britain said, and America sighed again.

_He was kind of hopeless. _

Alfred nibbled on his fish and walked to the stream. Britain followed close behind, and America spared him a glance before crouching next to the river.

"What are you doing?" he asked and America shushed him. Alfred tapped on the ground with his spare hand, and a fish jumped out of the river. Arthur gaped as America picked up the fish and gave it to him.

"How did you do that?" he asked Alfred while he cooked his fish. America ate and looked at the water.

" As long as you respect nature, she will take care of you," he answered simply.

_He thought it was a bunch of rubbish. _

"It was a fluke then," Britain said, pleased when America showed no signs of leaving.

_Idiot. _

"You're life here will be hard then," America said, burying the fish skeleton.

_ Of course, it finally dawned on him that I was speaking correctly. _

"Wait," Britain said, and America stopped. The man had fed him.

"Why?" he asked, startled to see the man look so distraught.

"If you cross the river, the witch will get you," he said, and America didn't really understand the word.

"Witch?" he asked, once Britain caught up to him. Arthur took hold of his shoulder and pointed to the forest.

"It's a vile creature who takes children," he said, and America held onto him for dear life when various forest sounds spooked him.

"Why don't you stay with me tonight? I'll protect you from the witch," Britain said. America nodded furiously, clinging to his shirt.

_I had no idea that he was referring to my mom, stupid Brit. _


	3. The Tension

The Tension

_Unable to sleep, I clung to him the entire night; combine that with my super strength, he didn't get a wink of sleep either. In the morning, when my young mind assumed the danger had past, although truly it was still in front of me, I found myself slowly warming up to Britain. _

"Hello there, I wasn't sure you'd still be here," Britain said with a yawn. America yawned too, settling further into the blankets. He hadn't slept much the night before. The man appeared sluggish as he sat upright, and despite earlier mishaps, America did not move when the man touched his back. The repetitive smooth circles made his eyes droop, and he vaguely searched for a word that would make the man stop. Alfred's eye twitched in annoyance as the foreigner's words escaped him once more. He mumbled something, and he instantly knew it wasn't a word the man would know, instead, it reassured him that he hadn't been rendered mute by his prolonged exposure to this man. Alfred didn't really understand how he continued to be lulled into a false sense of security except that he wasn't afraid of the groggy man. For one thing, they were both tired, and the man's motive seemed to be keeping him in the tent. There was little else to worry about when he knew the way back home.

The man was careless and at most, seemed lonely. He had also protected him from the witch, a danger he hadn't know existed. Alfred would keep him company for a little while and sneak back to his encampment later as he had done with Spain. The man said something, but he didn't hear it. He tried to get up, afraid that he had lost the capacity to understand the stranger who most of the time did not understand him.

"Shh, shh, shh, go back to sleep, I know you're tired," the man said, gently pushing him back down onto the blankets. He nodded absently, noticing that if nothing else, the man understood this. Successfully lulled into a drowsy stupor, he closed his eyes. One brief second before losing consciousness, he imagined his mother frowning at him and squeezed Britain's hand. He'd go back as soon as he could.

Waking up in the tent didn't make him panic like it did before, if anything, seeing Britain's face when he awoke triggered the rapid beating of his heart, and he struggled to break free of the man's grip, but escape seemed all but impossible. He attempted to shake the man awake without any success. Alfred sighed, forced to lay there and look around. He hadn't been asleep for very long, judging by the dimming sky. He tried to remember the man's name so he could wake him, but it had slipped his mind, along with the rest of the English language.

"Ma," he said, sure he wasn't quite saying the word, man, right. Britain started to turn over, and America waved his hands around frantically; sure, he would be squished. Instead, he released him, and America took the opportunity to run. The man had quick reflexes and caught him by his torn robe. He dragged America back to him and inspected the torn edges with a frown. (The pulling hadn't exactly helped keep the fabric together.)

"We'll, have to replace these," he remarked dryly. The man was more alert now and appeared to have a permanent scowl on his face. It wasn't so different from his mother's focused gaze, but America still didn't like it.

"Ma, 'ake me 'ome?"he asked, thinking it might save him the trouble of escaping if the man simply took him home himself. The man seemed flustered for some reason.

"Ah, well, you see, I'm more like . . . Britain. Yes, let's just stick with that," he said, pointing to himself. America nodded and pointed to the forest visible from the tent's opening. Britain understood, but it did not go the way he hoped it would. The man lifted America who instinctively squirmed.

"No, you won't be living in the forest anymore. It's not a very safe place," Britain said, and America gave him a look. The man ran his fingers through his hair and glared at him.

"Yes, I know that it's probably not your first time alone in the forest," he said, and America nodded. Britain seemed to hesitate slightly at the quick affirmation.

"Tell you what, don't run off and I'll let you play outside," Britain offered, and America nodded, deciding that he could enjoy himself a little and run off later when the man didn't expect it. Hopefully, his mother would not find him first and get hurt as she had earlier.

Alfred ran outside eagerly with Britain not far behind. He stayed away from the stream, still weary of the witch the man had mentioned. America mostly ran in circles with an occasional zig zag, and once the man realized this pattern, he sat down, satisfied that Alfred wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Eventually, America grew tired of running around and started playing in the dirt. The man immediately stood, shaking bits of dirt off America as if they were toxic. Then, he abruptly shoved a feather and some paper into his arms.

"Here, draw for a while," he said as Alfred stared blankly at the unfamiliar objects. Britain sighed, taking a quill from his coat and dipping it into the black liquid. America mimicked the action perfectly, and Britain smirked, before making slow deliberate strokes on the paper which Alfred quickly copied.

"This is your name," he told him, and America stared at the strange markings for a moment before shaking his head.

"Yes, it is, Ame-ri-ca," he said, and when the man continued to glare at him, he decided it was best to humor him.

"Ame-ri-ca," he repeated, and once he said it, it didn't sound so different from A-ya-she. It would simply be what the man called him. The man ruffled his hair, and America let the paper fall to the ground. He held the feather close to him, knowing he should really go home.

"Oh, don't look so down about it. We rarely get to name ourselves," he said, and America sat down, dragging the quill across the ground. He stopped and looked at the man.

"I suppose it isn't something that you consciously think about yet, is it?" Britain said, and America nodded. Technically, he didn't have an official name yet with all the various tribes, languages, and borders. His mother told him that it didn't matter, and he should let the tribes call him what they wish. So, it was kind of unsettling for a stranger to give him a name. Then again, the stranger's people lived here too so maybe, it wasn't that big of a deal.

"If you don't like it, I suppose I can give you another name," Britain said which didn't really ease America's misgivings. The man noticed and wrote something else on the paper.

"Alfred, after the poor bloke that fell overboard," the man decided, and America made a face. It didn't sound right to him either.

"I'm Arthur," he said, and America shook his head.

"Itan," he said, pointing at the man. That's what he remembered at least.

"Well, I'm Britain, and Arthur," he said, and America gave up and let himself fall to the ground. It was like talking to his rabbits: confusing, contradictory and most of the time, he didn't end up talking to the same rabbit he started out with.

"Play," he said.

"Ay," America compulsively repeated the word as best he could. This earned him a pat on the head. Britain handed him some more paper, and he started to scribble. The man also preoccupied himself with his own papers.

_The time I spent drawing could have easily been used to escape, but I was having fun. _

"Look Britain," he said, blinking in surprise. He didn't understand why the words came and went. The man smiled, taking the paper from his hands.

"Let's see. There's you, me, and your mother in the bushes?" he said, holding the drawing closer.

"Yup, she's right over there," he said, pointing to her, and taking off in that direction. The man was unable to grab him before he reached safety. He scrambled to correct his mistake, but a well aimed arrow stopped him half-way.

"Go home," she repeated, and Arthur seemed less eager to draw a sword, ignoring the arrow pointed at him and instead looking at Alfred.

"Exactly what I was thinking," he said, and his mother's eyes narrowed. She launched an arrow that Britain hastily dodged, before picking Alfred up.

_He didn't chase us, and I didn't really understand why at the time. Now I know, he understood that I would return on my own. _

America watched the man as his mother carried him to safety. Instead of relief, he felt a sort of confusion when the man did not move. Hadn't he attacked his mother in the first place? She had dropped her bow and was running at a sluggish pace so he could easily catch up if he wanted. Before he was obscured by the surrounding trees, Britain dropped his solemn expression and smiled. He heard the man whisper, come back soon. America nodded, and Ageni's grip noticeably tightened. His mother did not stop running for a long time after that, until finally she faltered and slowed to a walk. America climbed off her guiltily.

_ Thanks to my mother, I had no strong loyalty to any one tribe. She truly believed that this would allow me to be impartial and clear headed as she was_ _but really . . ._

"Ayashe, have I not taught you how to care for yourself?" Ageni asked, and America shook his head, despite knowing that she would lecture him anyway.

"Do you think you can trust that man?" she asked, and America hesitated. The mad did not attack them this time.

"He's just a lonely man," he said which caused his mother to take hold of his arm and walk faster. She occasionally looked back in case the man did follow. He didn't.

_It just allowed me to look the other way._

"Ayashe, that man does not care for you. Those people are only here to take advantage of you, and if you trust them, they will destroy us," she shouted, causing America to flinch, rarely did she ever raise her voice. His mother's expression noticeably softened, and she ruffled his hair, a trait he was slowly associating with the man. They had reached their encampment, and she smiled warmly at the village elders who waited for them at the camp's entrance. He ignored the elders around him and looked back at the forest wondering how the man was fairing without him.

_If only she could have told me all this when I wasn't three . . ._


	4. The Lock

The Lock

"Then what?" Canada said, but America had stopped talking, drifting into a sort of quiet reflection. And normally, his brother's meloncholy detachment would be disconcerting to Canada, enough to illicit a heartfelt talk and a trip to Tim Horton's, but he wanted to hear the rest of the story, dammit. Matthew breathed in the chilly air and prepared to raise his voice above a whisper. Kumajiro ran to the door, distracting him momentarily. He never wanted to go out this late. Then, it clicked. They had a visitor. Maple leaf. America glanced at the door and lifted his glass of apple juice from the table, taking a swig.

"You might as well let him in," America said, giving Canada a knowing look.

"You double booked us. Didn't you?" he asked, and Canada rubbed his neck in an unconscious admittance of guilt.

"Well, you see. I wasn't expecting you to stay. And you never," he said, before being cut off by a very angry brit.

"Open the bloody door!" England yelled, and Canada scrambled to do just that. America had other ideas and put a finger to his lips. Since Canada was guaranteed a disgruntled England either way, he nodded. America put the apple juice down and stood, walking to the door as slowly as he could while the brit continued to bang on the door. He cleared his throat and straightened Nantucket, before gingerly opening the door. England staggered inside, and America easily lifted him off the ground, leading to many muffled curses from said brit.

"Welcome to Canada, eh!" Alfred shouted gleefully before putting Arthur down. Canada rolled his eyes.

"As you can see, Alfred decided to spend the night today. I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience for you, England," Canada apologized, not that Arthur paid him any mind. He took off his coat, realized the inside of the house was near freezing and put the coat back on, simply brushing off some of the icicles that had accumulated on his person. It finally seemed to register, and he turned to Canada, leaving his umbrella propped next to the sofa. America edged away from it and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. This time, Britain rolled his eyes.

"Not at all, I'm not here on business, so an extra person won't make a difference," England said, sitting on the other end of the sofa, away from America, leaving Canada in the middle. Perfect.

"It's just that ,when you're together, you always fight," Canada said, letting that particularly worry enter the room. America, who he thought might either provoke a new fight or vehemently deny that any fighting ever took place, in other words say a big fat lie, simply nodded. England scowled, and he could see his chance to hear the rest of the story slipping away.

"Nonsense, we are perfectly capable of being civil," England said in a manner that rang false. To Canada, it just seemed more of an act between the two because it was expected.

"Do you really think that?" America suddenly cut in, startling Arthur.

"Of . . . of course," he stuttered. America yawned, pouring more apple juice into his cup. Canada took it away, not because he thought America couldn't handle anymore, but simply because he didn't know what America's real alcoholic tolerance was. Canada did not invest this much time and effort to be foiled by Apple juice. At first, it seemed like a poor choice on Canada's part as America did not let go of his drink and eyed him with some skepticism. Finally, he muttered a "Fine," and let Canada take the drink, along with the rest of the apple juice. America turned his attention to the ceiling instead.

"Then I need you to do me a favor," he said, making Canada pause. He could put the alcohol away after this.

"What?" England asked, saying the word softly, tentatively, a sort of maybe.

"Fill in the gaps," he said puzzling England more. Canada almost dropped the bottle he was holding. Was he really going to continue with the antagonist in the room? "Tell me what you did when my mother took me back a second time," America said. He seemed nervous and somewhat suspicious of America's request but sighed, taking the bottle from Canada's hand, so much for that.

"Is that all?" he asked, and America nodded. With that, Canada sat down, closely followed by Kuma, something or other, who climbed onto his lap. England almost poured himself a drink, but both knew him better than that by now. America slid the glass away, and Canada, not so subtly, knocked the bottle out of his hands. In the old days, he would have raged for a good hour about wasting perfectly good alcohol; instead, he gave up and started to narrate.

_By now, I was beyond annoyed by the predicament. He'd been taken twice now, and I was more than ready to get the others involved. I started with Finland who before this encounter had been rather helpful. _

"Wait, you took him from his mother? That's horrible," Finland said, and Britain's eye twitched. He hadn't expected this particular detail to become an issue. The woman was obviously not his blood kin if appearance was anything to go by. He was about to say so when he took a second look at Finland who shared a lot of little America's features. Perhaps, it was best not to bring that up.

"Not exactly, I didn't know that someone was taking care of him when I first took him," Britain said, and Finland shook his head.

"So, you knew the second time?" he asked, and Britain didn't respond right a way in case he said the wrong thing. Finally, he settled on an argument, but the long pause only increased Finland's skepticism.

"You see, she can't take care of him properly, so it's fine," Britain said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. Finland crossed his arms.

"Is that why you need me to help take him? Because he has an _armed _mother?" Finland pressed, and it wasn't really that. The real issue was that the house wasn't built yet, and well, it was fairly easy for the lad to run back whenever he chose.

"I just need your help keeping an eye on him," Britain said, knowing there was a good chance Alfred would come back on his own.

"I will have no part of it, no matter how innocent you make it sound," Finland said, picking up the firewood and walking away.

"Fine, what do you know? I'll just find someone else to help me," Britain yelled, but he was promptly ignored.

_Once I realized how villainous my first explanation sounded, (Don't roll your eyes at me America _)_ I changed my approach when talking to Sweden. _

"Hello there, I thought I'd stop by since I was in the neighborhood," Britain said, and Sweden tended the fire without looking up. Arthur was not deterred by the silence and continued.

" I recently lost track of a little boy who I believe is somewhere in the forest. I don't suppose you'd help me bring him back?" he asked, and Sweden tossed a piece of wood into the fire.

"That depends, is this boy one of us?" Sweden asked, and Britain brightened at the potential partnership, nodding eagerly.

_I really thought I made some progress. _

"Then no, Finland told me what you were up to," he responded, leading Britain to curse under his breath. Had he really been blacklisted for this one digression? Britain sat down next Sweden, releasing a heavy sigh. Arthur could not play this game of cat and mouse forever. He had easily overpowered that woman, and the minute he left, someone else would undoubtedly take the boy. So, why couldn't it be him?

"What would you do? What would you do if you had to leave someone you cared about behind?" Britain shouted which earned him a raised eyebrow from Sweden. He watched the fire, quiet after Britain's outburst.

"I would spend time with boy, let him know I care for him but cannot stay. He will cry. Then, I trust mother to look after him and hope things will work out for better," Sweden said, looking to the north for a moment before returning his gaze to the fire. Britain realized he hit a nerve, and at the same time, came to an unfortunate conclusion. It was too dark to reach his campsite safely.

"Would you mind too terribly if I stayed with the two of you tonight?" Britain asked, and Sweden smiled.

"Sure, today, we are lost and without home," he said, before returning to his tent. He heard Finland mildly protest but ultimately open the tent flap.

"Come on in," Finland said, and Britain did.

_After a night of close quarters, it was a relief to walk into the forest. Unfortunately, I wasn't enthused by my next prospect. Stop snickering America . . . Anyway, I was determined to play nice._

"Bonjour Frog," he said, finding France treating himself to some fish at his own campsite.

"Oh, Britain, I heard you were with a bunch of sweaty men last night, but I'm not quite in the mood," France said, obviously baiting him. It made his red faced flustered response all the more aggravating. They hadn't made a big deal about it.

"Shut up," he said, making France laugh.

"What really brings you here, Britain?" he asked, giving Arthur the chance to calm down.

" I lost the kid, okay," he admitted which caused France to immediately change his tune.

"You imbecile, what was the point of the whole thing then?" he shouted, hitting Britain in the forehead. Arthur came close to pulling his hair out at the accusation. He wasn't incompetent, not at all. The damn universe was against him.

"It's not my fault he has a mother," he said, and after the revelation, France lost steam, shaking his head.

"Britain, please tell me you did not try to force the kid to stay with you?" he said, and his calm if reprimanding tone did not allow Arthur to continue his reactionary behavior.

"Well, yes, and it almost worked until that blasted red faced woman showed up again," he said, redirecting his anger at the woman, the blasted witch hiding in the woods. France, on the other hand, seemed to take it upon himself to corral Britain into an embrace. Something Britain was never comfortable doing.

"Oh Britain, you can't force the kid to stay with you. Instead, you must create a mysterious air about yourself to keep the kid coming back," he said, casting his hand forward for emphasis. Arthur thought about it. The boy had reacted better when Britain did not bother to attack his mother, knowing that killing the woman in front of the boy would not get him anywhere. Still, it seemed strange that France was privy to this strategy.

"How would you know?" he asked, and Francis immediately released him, waving his arms around frantically as if that would make him forget his question.

"That- that is not important. The point is I'm right, and all you're doing is scaring the kid by kidnaping him all the time," he said, putting his hand on his hips.

"I assume you won't help me take him, then," he said with a sigh.

"Yes, but it is because it's a stupid plan," Francis yelled, and so, Britain yelled back.

"Sure, the boy is stupid enough to come back after I injured his mother and kidnaped him twice," Britain raged and was extremely satisfied to see France gape at him.

"Britain?" he said, confusing Arthur.

"What?" he shouted, and France pointed behind him. The boy stared at the two blankly.

_I can take over from here. No, really England, I'll tell you if I need you to narrate again. _

America was confused why both men stopped talking when they noticed him. He could not understand what they were saying and backed away from the two apprehensively. The man who usually took him, picked him up. He didn't struggle, wanting to see if his suspicions were correct. He was not handled roughly, and while Britain held him tightly, it was no different from the way his mother held him. Satisfied that the man didn't mean him any harm, he rested his head on Britain's shoulder.

"I suppose you have a point," Britain said to France who grinned and watched America with piqued interest. America squirmed uncomfortably, remembering what the man said about France cooking children into stew.

"Goodbye France," Britain said to the other man, who told him to be nice to America. Somewhat reassured by this reaction, he waved to the man who had given him sweets before, and the man waved back. As England carried him away, America pondered what he had heard. He understood their intent without really knowing what they were saying. Was it another language he didn't recognize?

"I'm so glad you came back. Where have you been?" Britain asked, distracting America.

"Olm" he said, hoping he pronounced it right.

"Erm . . . Sure there, I definitely know where that is," Britain said, and America tried again.

"Ohm," he said, frowning when Britain didn't seem to understand that either.

"Anyway, please don't run off again. I do worry about you," Arthur said, ruffling his hair. America focused on the word worry. He tried repeating it.

"Hurry?" he asked, wondering if the man really did miss him that much when he went home.

"We're almost there," Britain said, frustrating America. He didn't mean to say that.

"No," he said, and the man pointed to the newly built hut on top of the hill.

"Yes, see, the builders finished the house," Britain said, and America tried repeating the word, afraid his innate translator might be broken.

"Mouse,"he said, which the man seemed to ponder.

"There shouldn't be. I don't think," he said, and America gave up, letting himself lay limply on Arthur's chest.

_Yes England, I failed at English, but it was only because I was actually starting to learn it for real, stop snickering. Wait, you were there. Why are you laughing so hard? Et tu, Canada?_

Once they were at the top of the hill, Britain put him down. America wobbled, unsteady on his feet after a long period of being carried. Arthur noticed and steadied him. Recovering from his dizziness, Alfred ran forward, curious about this house thing. He'd only seen these sort of shelters from afar since his mother had never let him enter the strangers' dwellings. He marveled at the size of it, and the strange glimmer that emanated from the two smaller holes.

When he touched the outside surface, his face paled. These were trees, and while the tribes did use wood for a variety of things, America could tell the man's people had cut many down from the adjacent area. More importantly, he had cut down his favorite tree. The one at the edge of the forest that he liked to sit under after running around the empty field. The poor thing was a stump now. America sniffled quietly, but eventually started to sob, steadily increasing in volume.

"What's the matter?" Britain asked, crouching down to take a look at him. America rubbed his eyes and tried to breath evenly.

"Meh, my, mine, tree," he said, pointing to the third log in the neatly piled stack that made up the left side of the front entrance. Britain blanched.

"Your tree?" he asked, and America nodded.

"Oh, umm . . . The tree will always be with you?" Arthur offered, and America shook his head, suddenly red in the face as he puffed up his chest.

"Tree killer," he said, running at Britain.

_Then, I kicked him in the shins. Oh England, why the sour face? I was three. Let it go. _

"You bloody-" Britain started to say before America let himself fall to his knees and turned to the yelling man. The man seemed to deflate as if he wasn't angry anymore. This seemed strange to him as the pain in the man's leg clearly hadn't subsided. Britain ignored the pain and breathed in an exaggerated manner. The sudden calm bothered America. Something about it wasn't natural. He placed a hand on America's shoulder. He stiffened and looked up, another much less convincing smile graced the man's features.

"Would you like to come inside?" he asked, directing America's attention to the open door. He couldn't see much from the opening which only added to the temptation. America stood, creeping toward the open doorway. Britain nudged him along, and he took the hint wearily. There wasn't much to look at, despite it's size. The fire had it's own cave like dwelling and had the strangers miscellaneous tools strewn about in ordered chaos. They'd clearly been used recently.

"Come inside, I've made scones," Britain said, going inside first. He waited expectantly, and America looked behind him. The man had left him an opening to turn back if he wanted to.

_I could have left. There were obvious reasons to leave. _

Then again, the man didn't mean him any harm.

_I didn't. _

"That's a good boy," Britain said, shutting the opening and taking out some strange shining object that fit into a hole in the wood. There was a click. America ran to the door and pointed at the strange object the man had tampered with.

"Don't worry. I just locked the door to keep intruders out," Britain explained.

_Or to keep prisoners in . . .Britain if you think I'm being over dramatic, you can tell Canada your version of the story some other time, now shush. _

"'Ock?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"No, it's not a rock. It's a scone. You're supposed to eat it," Britain said, handing him a scone. America stared at it intently.

_ I was pretty sick of scones at this point. So, I threw the scone at him. Then, he dropped the plate, and I just kept throwing them. Don't pretend I was the worst behaved child, England. What about Mr. Hong Kong Firecrakers and Australia Steal a Shoe? _

"What are you doing? You ungrateful brat, I was trying to give you a treat," Britain yelled as America zoomed past him. He dragged the chair until it was next to the door, climbed up and tried to jiggle the door open with no success. Britain attempted to pull him away from the door, but America was bent on escape. The man had shown his true colors, and he was not sticking around for things to get worse.

_After a few minutes of this and Arthur receiving a few kicks in the face . . . Not another word England. He realized that I wasn't strong enough to break the lock. _

"Aye? I? wye? why?" he said over and over again. Britain watched him with some amusement. America glared at him, trying to open the door again

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you. I simply can't have you running off the minute you fancy going back," Britain said. America tried to put his weight into his next attempt so he could swing his way out, but it only caused him to fall to the floor head first. America wailed, and Britain immediately left his chair.

"Blast, you really should be more careful," Arthur said, taking him upstairs. Apparently, there was more to it than a large room with a table and a couple of chairs. Arthur rocked him as they went up, but America did not and would not stop crying. Britain brought them into a fairly large room and placed him on an odd yet comfortable surface. He was wrapped in a large and fuzzy blanket as the man muttered something about someone called Wales. America quieted, particularly when Britain placed some sort of sweet substance in his mouth. He sucked on it while Britain took out medical supplies or so he assumed from the large amounts of herbs the man took out.

"Let's get you fixed up," Britain said, mixing substances together. America crinkled his nose.

"This is good for you honest. It's a family recipe," Arthur said, and America blinked and waited because there wasn't much else to do in the blankets.

"I know it's a bit of a shock, but you'll learn to like it here. We'll have you dressed properly and sleeping indoors in no time," Britain said, forcing the medicine down America's throat by plugging up his nose until he opened his mouth to breathe. America still didn't understand why he needed a liquid remedy for a head wound. All he really knew was that he felt tingly all of a sudden and drained.

"I added something to help you sleep while you heal," Britain said although America barely registered it, yawning and nodding. The man stroked his hair, and he flinched. Britain withdrew his hand and whispered to the shivering Alfred.

" I'll keep you safe so long as you stay with me."

_I should have hated him at this point, but it's not like he didn't care. It's that he cared too much. _


	5. The Prisoner

The Prisoner

_ Is that where you were, mom? _

Canada walked along the river, without a particular destination in mind. The bear followed, because the bear always followed, not that he understood why. The bear paid him little attention despite faithfully sticking by him.

"Who is that?" the bear asked, and Canada obliged the bear's question.

"I don't know. I've never seen anyone like that before. He looks like me though," Canada said, preparing to turn back. The bear kept going, and Canada followed him. Even if he resented the bear's nonchalance, he didn't want to be alone.

"Oh, what's this? Another strange creature with pretty fur . . . Ah, but you're not alone. What is your name, mon ami?" the stranger asked. Canada hesitated, remembering his mother's words. _Do not talk to anyone while I'm gone. I will come back for you, no matter how long it takes. _

As much as he wanted to believe her, she had been gone such a long time, and the man seemed nice enough. He hadn't had a father in a really long time, and the other man said that he may never come back.

"I live over there in Kanata," he said, pointing to an area not readily visible thanks to the surrounding pines. The man smiled, picking Canada up. He did not resist, particularly since the embrace allowed him a better view of the surrounding area.

"So, you are Canada," the man said. He was about to protest, unsure how the man had figured out what he was when he had an idea.

"Could you be my pappa?" Canada asked, unfamiliar with the word pappa but deciding that it fit with what he wanted to say.

"Hey, Canada, what are you thinking about?" America asked. Canada snapped out of his reverie, not realizing his brother could tell when he wasn't all there. He cleaned some of the smudges off his glasses, not that they would ever be clear and pristine like they used to be.

"Oh, it's nothing, keep going," Canada said.

_ As you can imagine, by the next day, I was desperate to get out of there. _

America had crammed himself into the small space that framed the window. He pressed his face against the glass and mouthed "help me." The target of his cries shook her head and disappeared into the bushes- not yet. He unstuck himself from the window and just sat on the wooden ledge.

Britain came downstairs, droopy eyed. He scratched his head when he noticed America by the window. Instead of saying anything to him, he passed America and methodically started cooking breakfast. Puzzled, America waited for the man to address him. This became increasingly unlikely the longer the man's back was turned. America slumped, and sighed, crawling back onto the awaiting chair. From there, he walked over to Britain and tugged at his pant's leg.

_This was the first time he ignored me._

"'Itan," America said, and Britain looked down for a moment in between cooking the fish.

"Yes America?" he asked, and America stared at him blankly.

_I couldn't really say why it bothered me, but it successfully distracted me. _

"Wait a little and the fish will be ready. There is some bread and a glass of milk on the table for you, meanwhile," Britain said, pointing to the table. America sat down and picked up the bread, nibbling on it. The thing tasted different from the stuff his mom gave him. He glanced at the window, but there was still no sign of his mother. He continued eating the bread, occasionally drinking his milk.

"Here, a full stomach is bound to cheer you up," Britain said, putting the fish down in front of him.

_ Britain tended to offer me food, particularly when he thought I was sad. My mother always told me never to hunt something that I didn't intend to eat. So, it never occurred to me_ _to simply refuse the food he offered me, except the scones. I don't think I ever considered them a food. Ow . . . England. _

America let his head rest on the table, staring at the fish's dead eye. It would be a waste and disrespectful if he didn't eat the fish, but he was already full. Britain pushed the plate closer to him, and with that, America started to eat the fish. When he finally finished, he wasn't really up for climbing onto the window ledge again and just rested his head on the table.

"My, perhaps, it was a mistake to give you this much food right away. I think we'll wait on the pie," Britain said, patting him on the back. America looked up at him, clutching his stomach.

"'Ie?" he said, dismayed. He thought the man would stop giving him things after the fish.

_I would eventually dub it, the guilt pie. _

"I see. You're still hungry. I suppose you can have a piece of pie then," Britain said, putting a piece of pie on the table.

"No," America said, pushing the plate away. Britain, then, took the pie for himself.

"Why didn't you just say you were full?" he said as America lay on the table while his upset stomach continued to rumble.

"'Ull," America said, hugging his torso, just in case his insides decided to fall out. Britain laughed, ruffling his hair, an action Alfred was quickly becoming irritated by. He scowled and pushed the hand away, leaving one hand on his belly. Although somewhat surprised, the man withdrew his hand again and spoke.

"I'll teach you to speak properly later. At least, you have clean clothes, now," Britain said, taking a bite out of his pie.

_He eventually felt sorry for me, eventually. He didn't do anything about my stomachache, until he finished his stupid pie. _

"You don't seem to be feeling any better. I'll mix something up for you," Britain said, leaving the room. America followed instinctively. Even if the dead trees offered him reasonable protection from the outside, he didn't like being alone when he wasn't feeling well.

_Erm . . . This is about the time I discovered some of Britain's more unhinged personality traits. _

"Hello America, come on in. I'm in the middle of brewing something in the cauldron," Britain said, stirring a strange green bubbling liquid in said pot. America froze and watched, unsure whether he honestly wanted to come in or not. The healers he'd seen didn't make such questionable medicine.

"America, come in and close the door. You're letting the smoke spread to the rest of the house," Britain ordered, and his tone made Alfred immediately close the door. He sat on the bench next to the cauldron. The man had wrapped himself in black fabric that obscured his face, and only the eerie glow of what he was making highlighted his facial features. Alfred continued to clutch his stomach and hope this wasn't the remedy the man had referred to earlier. The man stirred the pot for a while longer while Alfred surveyed the rest of the room. This room in particular wasn't as empty as the rest of the house. There were tons of strange things that he'd never seen before and had he been in better health might have stood and examined them personally. Overall, he recognized a few of the things as items a healer might have and decided the rest of the stuff the man had served a similar purpose.

"There done, " Britain said, pouring some of the contents into a glass.

"Drink it," he said, holding the glass up to Alfred's lips. America immediately left the bench and headed for the door.

"No, you don't. It's for your own good," the man said, holding him by the scruff of his new robe and dragging him back. America kept resisting and made new tears in his clothes. Britain scooped him up and avoided causing further damage to the robe.

"No!" America shouted, startling the man.

"So you remember that word," Britain muttered, picking something up from a little glass jar.

"Here, have a candy that ought to calm you down," he said, meeting some resistance from Alfred who didn't want anything weird entering his system. The man forced the rock like object into his mouth. America recognized the taste and began to suck on it.

"That tasted good right?" Britain asked, and America nodded reluctantly.

"So, will you give this a try?" he asked, holding up the bubbling liquid. His stomach growled violently, resulting in a fair bit of stomach pain. America reconsidered the offer. Technically, the man only wanted him to try it, implying he could stop if he found it life threatening. He nodded, drinking the substance, only to find it a rather bland mixture with only a faint aftertaste of herbs.

"Feel better?" the man asked. Already, Alfred could feel the noxious pit of his stomach settle down and the bloated feeling leave him. He hugged the man tightly, nodding again.

"Good," he said, inspecting the torn edges of his robe.

"I can already tell you're going to cost me a fortune," Britain said with a sigh.

_ He had no idea. Ow, England, I'm this close to borrowing Canada's hockey stick. _

"Luckily, this is still salvageable. We'll put something else on you for now," Britain said, placing America down on the stranger's mat although he had never seen one quite this thick. The man changed Alfred's clothes once more, to one similar to his previous robe. The man took a number of things from the strange tall fancy box, some of them he put next to Alfred others he set near himself.

"I'll need to take advantage of the daylight to mend your clothes," Britain explained, and America pointed to the objects near him.

"These are the toys I bought you so you'll have something to do while I work," he said, taking his basket full of cloth, thread, and thin shining tools. America picked up a round object and showed it to Britain.

"That's a ball," he said, bouncing it a few times before giving it back to him. America attempted to bounce and catch it but ultimately ended up chasing the ball before coming back. He presented the ball to Britain who nodded in affirmation.

"You'll get the hang of it. Now, this is a spinning top," he said, making the modest piece of wood spin, and America watched in fascination as it remained spinning for a good while before coming to a stop. When he tried to spin the top, it only lasted a few seconds. America frowned at the ball and spin top that didn't seem to like him very much. Britain patted him on the back before presenting him with the last object.

"And well, you've seen a horse before," Britain said, holding the strange horse look a like. He touched the thick coarse stringy hair and stared into the black beaded eyes, before grabbing hold of the simple rope the strangers used to direct horses. He easily figured out how to mount the toy and began running around the room.

" I suppose you would like the horse," the man said, sitting in a nearby chair. To America's surprise, the chair seemed to rock back and forth to the rhythm of Britain's legs. Mesmerized, he stopped and watched the chair's movement as Britain prepared his tools. The man noticed and smiled at him.

" Once I finish mending this, I'll let you sit with me if you'd like," he offered, and America nodded, returning to his play.

America ran around the room with his new toy, finding the horse lost it charm after the tenth time around. He moved on to the ball which easily thwarted him the first twenty times, but he figured out that it was easier to catch if he bounced it slower, so that eventually bored him too. He then spun the spin top, slow to actually make it spin longer than a few seconds. Through some persistence, he eventually had it spin longer but never as long as the man spun it. Britain would peer down at him occasionally as he worked until finally he held the robe aloft and inspected it.

"Done, you can barely tell they're mended. Women's work indeed, Scotland," Britain announced triumphantly. America looked around but saw no signs of this Scotland. The man cleared his throat and put away his other robe in the fancy box.

" Well, um, why don't I tell you a story?" Britain said, and America pointed to the chair.

"Yes, on the chair," the man said, sitting down. America followed close behind and easily settled onto Britain's lap.

"I think we'll start with Hamlet," the man decided, and America nodded uncertainly. There was very little he recognized in the foreign alien place, and this would likely be something else he didn't really understand.

"The story begins with the two guards, Francisco and Bernado stationed in front of the castle whom in the darkness cannot see each other. Who's there? Bernado says," Britain said and already certain words befuddled him.

"What's a castle?" he asked, causing Britain to pause.

_And so, the first story he ever told me, happened to be Hamlet, a tale that at its core concerned itself with revenge and death. Not that I understood it, he spent the majority of the afternoon explaining the various words and concepts I didn't know. _

"Let's just say Ophelia wasn't well. Do you understand now?" he asked, placing a hand to his forehead and slowly running it through his hair.

"Why?" he said, not knowing why the girl did what she did. She still had a brother that would miss her.

" Because she was driven mad by grief," Britain said again, in an exasperated fashion. America hung his head. Perhaps, he should stop asking questions. It just seemed to make the man upset. There was a loud steady knocking, and America clung to Britain. Perhaps, there were ghosts around here too.

"Hold on, we seem to have a visitor," Britain said, putting him down. The man went downstairs, and America trailed after him, jumping at the slightest sound. He tried to think if anyone he knew had died recently. He paled, ghost bunnies, loads and loads of ghost bunnies.

"Where was it?" he muttered, taking out a long black stick covered in cloth.

_Yes, England had a regular umbrella with him in the 1600's. Yes, I know they weren't widely used in England until, much, much later. I had a computer in the 1950's. Do you really want to question this now, Canada? I didn't think so. _

"This will have to do while the blacksmith has my sword," Britain said, signaling for America to stay put. The man opened the door, and America breathed a sigh of relief. The other man had come to visit and was clearly not a ghost. Alfred did not come out of hiding though. He didn't exactly have proof whether the man cooked children into stew or not. He'd rather not risk it.

"Hello, Britain, I heard you completely ignored my advice and kidnaped little America," France said as Britain rolled his eyes.

"Is that all? He lives with me now, end of story. Go home, Frog," Britain said, attempting to close the door, but the other man had a strong grip, and the door stayed ajar.

"I'm afraid it has upset some of my red skin friends. Would you mind too terribly not being a jerk?" France said, pushing the door open another inch.

"Oh, suddenly these natives are your friends," Britain said, managing to close the door before the man could respond. When there was no further resistance, the man breathed a sigh of relief, and rested his head against the door. America left his hiding place behind the stairs. The man fished the keys from his pockets and was about to lock the door when it swung open, making the man lose his balance and fall to the ground.

"I have better social skills than you," he shouted, and Britain immediately reacted by swinging his stick forward. America ran back to his hiding spot behind the stairs and watched as the other man flinched and yelled.

"No, not the parasol of doom!" Britain grinned nefariously.

_Yes, Canada, France said that. Look, I was three, maybe I did just imagine it that way. Wait, what England? He did? See Canada. I told you so._

Britain held France down and repeatedly beat him with the black stick until the thing branched open and revealed its circular form.

"Ow, my eye," France said, covering his face. The man ignored him, closing the parasol so he could jab his sides. The man plunged the parasol's tip down onto the man's belly, making the man gasp in pain. America scooted closer to the corner and hugged his stomach to protect himself from future jabbing.

"This is not your concern," he said, jabbing France hard in the gut again. He then stood and whacked him until he retreated to the door. The man noticed France heading for his fallen sword and kicked it away.

"Mind your own business and . . ." he said, picking up France's sword and throwing it outside.

"Go, before I stick this parasol up your ass," he said, readying himself to do just that when France ran fast, stopping only once to pick up his fallen sword.

America trembled when Britain approached.

"What's the matter, boy? The stranger's gone. There's nothing to worry about," Britain said, ruffling his hair.

"No," he said, backing away from him.

"That's right nothing to worry about," Britain said, frowning when Alfred curled into a ball at his touch. The man grabbed him by his sides, scowling when Alfred started to squirm.

"Alfred, it's Arthur, calm down," he said, looking into Alfred's eyes. America ignored this and tried to push the man's hands away from him.

"Alfred, think about it, if I let you go, you'll fall," he said, and America stopped pushing the man's hand away. Alfred searched frantically to figure out some other way to get out of the man's grip. The man for some strange reason decided to hold Alfred in one arm and make it easier for him to escape. With the other hand, the man ruffled his hair, and America automatically pushed that hand away. The man instead of simply withdrawing his hand as he had done previously, cupped his chin and directed Alfred's attention to his eyes. America stopped struggling and realized something very important. He was the bunny, and Britain was the predator.

"You see, Alfred, so long as you listen and do as you're told, no harm will befall you, but if you hesitate and question me," he said, letting America fall, waiting till the last possible second to catch him again. America shrieked, genuinely surprised when he did not hit the ground. He hung limply in Britain's arms afterwards. When Britain ruffled his hair, he didn't stop him.

"You'll be no better off than, Hamlet. Do you understand?" he whispered. America nodded, holding him tightly because this was the only way the man would loosen his hold on him. The man, however, made it a point to stroke his hair and rub his back repeatedly.

"Do you want me to finish the story?" he asked, and America nodded, letting himself be carried while still feeling sick to his stomach for entirely different reasons.

_And, that is the story of how I learned to fear umbrellas, among other things. England, put the umbrella away. It's not funny. _


	6. The Escape

The Escape

A dull sort of tension had slipped into the room, awakening long since forgotten irritation in America and England. Canada hated this sort of tension. He was in the middle of it too often. Just insert X country with America, and Canada for unforseen reasons tended to be there.

"I can't believe you complained about the potion I gave you. The medicine cured you didn't it?" England asked, and America rolled his eyes.

" It was a head wound. I swear it's a miracle I survived under your care," he muttered, instigating indignant protests from England. Canada mostly tuned it out, singing his anthem in his head. Unfortunately, it was rather short, and the cursing hadn't ended so he started singing it in french. Then, England said something incredibly stupid.

"Here we go, blame Great Britain for all your problems. Do you think you would have been any better off with France?" England said, ending with a huff. America snapped something in half in response. Canada couldn't tell what object invoked America's wrath, but it was obviously something thick. One thing immediately ran through Matthew's mind. Not the hockey stick, not the hockey stick- the umbrella? Oh dear, England loved that umbrella. Canada changed seats to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. This wouldn't end well, and it was reason enough to sit on the cooler.

"I think I would have been better off with my mom, but now, we'll never know will we?" he asked, completely shutting England up. Canada sighed, even he tended to forget this didn't have a happy ending.

"Could we go back to the story please?" Canada asked, redirecting America's attention. He set the broken umbrella on the table, muttering under his breath that he always wanted to do that.

_ In the following years, my mother did not stop trying to retrieve me. The first time is especially important because I still wanted her to take me. After, I always came back on my own._

"My, are you still waiting at the window?" Britain asked, and America continued to press his face against the glass but sighed sulkily. The man hadn't let him go outside since the incident with the other man. While Alfred liked his toys, he was getting tired of them, especially since he could be riding a _real_ horse with his mom right about now. Arthur frowned, finishing up his breakfast.

"Come now, you need to eat," he said, wiping his face with a cloth and getting up to retrieve him. America immediately climbed down, and sat at the table. England frowned and came closer, making America flinch. The man's expression, if possible, soured even more at America sudden shyness. For a moment, the man extended a hand as if to grab him by the collar, but instead, withdrew and let him be. He went into the kitchen to serve him food, and America allowed himself to release the shaky breath he'd been holding. The man paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and eyeing him with obvious disapproval. Alfred averted his eyes, and desperately tried not to look outside. It seemed to irritate the man.

"No need to look so damn afraid of me, I'm not going to hurt you," he said, and America tried to think of what he did wrong. He came when he was told, and oh yes, he wasn't smiling. He forced his lips upwards, and he was given food. Soon after, Britain grabbed his chin and tilted it upwards so his face was completely visible, forced smile and all.

"Yes, much better, I'm taking care of you. There's no need to look so upset all the time," he said, and America nodded, accepting the food. So long as he didn't make the man mad, he wasn't so bad to live with, at least until his mom came back. He ate, appetite virtually nonexistent, but if he didn't eat it, the man would yell again. He clumsily grabbed hold of his spoon and slurped the soup.

"Do you like it?" Arthur asked, and America nodded. He wasn't really paying enough attention to tell if it tasted good or not, but it's what the man wanted to hear. Just as he thought, the man stopped caring whether he ate or not and looked over some papers.

"So much has happened since I've been gone," he muttered, making various marks on the papers. America watched, wondering why he cared so much about something as thin and forgettable as the leaves outside. Then again, he didn't really understand much about the man and his habits. After a few minutes of complete silence and being completely ignored, America assumed it was okay to resume his post.

_I waited . . ._

"Must you stay by the window all the time? Are you that bored?" Britain asked, and America leaned against the window frame gloomily. He couldn't even see her in the bushes anymore.

Britain put down the papers he was looking at and went to fetch him. America took this as a sign that the man wanted him away from the window again and climbed down. Maybe, he shouldn't have left the chair. The man caught him, and he resisted the sudden grab before remembering the man's words and staying put.

"Oh poppet, stop fretting so much, would you like to hear a story?" he asked, stroking his hair. America curled up into a ball, feeling very tired. Last night hadn't left him in the mood for sleep. He nodded absently, growing drowsy. The last story he told had been confusing, but he wouldn't mind hearing another one.

"Okay, let's see, this time, let's go with something simpler, ah, I know, I'll tell you a ghost story since that was the part you seemed to like from the last one," he said, and America nodded again, clutching his shirt. He wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight either.

"A young boy wandered into the woods alone and began to follow a glowing light, believing it might guide him home, " Britain began. America raised his hand like the man had taught him to do when he had a question. Alfred had adopted the habit fairly quickly since this seemed to annoy Arthur less than interrupting in the middle of the story and kept him from getting yelled at.

"Yes, Alfred?" he asked, not looking too happy about his raised hand. Alfred hesitated and lowered his hand, not understanding why the man suddenly changed his mind about that. It's what he'd told him to do.

"N'vr min'," he said, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead and ask, I won't bite," Britain said, and America raised his hand, waving it around eagerly. Arthur chuckled, taking hold of his hand and lowering it. America stared at his hand, puzzled. Was he doing it wrong?

"You don't have to do that every time you want to speak. Only, when I am talking and you have something to say," he explained, and America nodded slowly, kind of getting it.

"Mark Tea?" he asked, wondering why the boy didn't just mark his path so he'd know the way back.

"What are you trying to say? Do you want some of my tea? Or would you prefer I call you Mark?" Britain asked, and America slapped his forehead. The man could be so dense sometimes.

"Mark teeth?" he tried again, frustrated that the words were coming out wrong. His mother never had this problem when switching from language to language.

"No, I'm not going to bite you. I was joking," Britain said, and Alfred let his head fall on Arthur's shoulder. There was no point in trying to communicate if he couldn't even ask a simple question. Still, the man waited for a reply, and when he received no response, he started to frown again. Alfred fidgeted nervously and thought hard about what he was trying to say. What had the man called him once? Boy. The word mark was correct. He was sure of that. Then . . . why couldn't he think of the last word?

"Boy mark path?" he tried again, and it finally clicked, or at least, the man started to laugh about the mix up. Alfred hid his face, apparently he was amusing.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. You'll get better at speaking eventually," he said, patting his back. Alfred looked up at the man, who smiled and pinched his cheek. America slapped his hand away feebly and nestled into a more comfortable position, feeling better for some reason. When he tried to understand why, he came to a simple conclusion. The man was smiling, and he never did that.

"And, this boy wasn't particularly bright. He simply thought he'd sneak off and have fun for a few hours and return home without a problem," he said, and America nodded, looking out the window guiltily, so much for that. The man must have noticed because he held him that much more tightly. America yawned, latching onto the man's arm so at least, he'd be a useful pillow, not thinking much of it. His mother wasn't coming today anyway.

"The creature he followed was a willow wisp. They make people lose their way," he said, cradling Alfred in one arm and producing a soft blue light with his other hand that hovered above his fingertips. Alfred fascinated by the sudden glow, attempted to touch it. The man snapped his fingers and the light hovered above America head. He didn't particularly listen to the man after that, trying and failing to catch the light several times. Every time he was close, it would move out of his reach momentarily before returning to its original position. After a while, he gave up, and simply watched it. Somehow aware of this, the light began to dance around him.

"Are you listening?" Britain said, and America mumbled a yes, rubbing his eyes, and looking up at the man, for a minute, forgetting the light. Arthur wasn't all that convinced but continued.

"The willow wisps eventually led him to the marsh where he almost drowned," he said, getting America's attention. He sat up, somewhat panicked and upset. There_ needed_ to be a happy ending.

" Wha? Ow, no," he said, shaking the man's arm. Arthur smirked, taking advantage of America's sudden grip on him to lift him off the ground. Alfred kicked his feet around helplessly and whined, attempting to climb down. Britain wouldn't have that, suddenly tossing him into the air. America squeaked, shutting his eyes tightly, only to be caught at the last second. The minute he could, he latched onto Britian's arm again. The man laughed, attempting to shake him off onto his awaiting lap. America wouldn't budge.

"You're such a scaredy-cat," he said, and Alfred nodded, thinking this was what the man wanted. The man frowned. He did a lot of that.

"Oh well, I guess that's enough of a scare for now," Arthur said, lowering his arm onto his lap and rubbing Alfred's back in an attempt to loosen his grip. He yawned, instinctively tightening his grip when Arthur attempted to remove his arm.

"Blast it all, determined little bugger aren't you? To answer your question, yes ow but the boy survived, " Britain said, managing to finally lull him into a false sense of security or at least enough to push him onto his awaiting lap. At this point, he was too tired to try and move, choosing instead to curl into a ball like he had before.

"Would you like to know how?" he asked, and America nodded, not surprised when he continued to be handled like a stubborn rabbit. He could have fought it- kicked and screamed at the man until he regretted locking him up, but his mother was a no show, and, maybe, he didn't want to end up alone in the woods, like the brother he kept hearing about. So, the man continued to stroke his back and try to calm him while he shivered. It didn't really help.

"A black dog was watching over him and decided that it wasn't his time to die," he said, and America looked at him quizzically.

"Og?" he said, not recognizing the word. Although he tried to stay awake, the man's continued attempts to soothe him started taking their toll, and Alfred found himself dozing off, vaguely aware of being moved upstairs to his room. Or at least, Britain claimed the room was his. He didn't know why. It was a room like any other, the only thing in there that he claimed any ownership over were the toys Arthur gave him. Alfred didn't mind. The bed there was a lot more comfortable than the ground and better than most of the other places he ended up staying the night.

"Yes, it's like a wolf but black and mystical," he explained, and America nodded. He'd seen wolves around a couple of times. His mother never let him keep any of the pups they came across, but they did like to play with him when the two of them stopped by.

"Oh, 'og, good," he decided. If they were anything like wolves, he wouldn't mind seeing one.

"Yes, the dog jumped into the marsh and pulled the boy out of the water," he said, and with that, America felt he could sleep without seeing the ghost boy. The man put him down on the bed, covering him in thick heavy blankets. Alfred tried to get out of the sheets and failed. He wasn't sure he liked that, but the bed was still comfortable despite the restricting blankets. So he turned his back on the man and tried to sleep, but before he could, the man shook him gently. America turned around, surprised the man had come so close to his face.

"Do you know why I told you this story?" he whispered quietly, letting his hand secure the back of Alfred's head. He found it unnerving. The man could easily twist it off if he really wanted to.

"No," he said, voice trembling, something that conflicted with his otherwise calm demeanor. The man didn't seem to notice this minor sign of fear, focused instead on his hooded eyes and currently very still body. Alfred yawned, annoyed that he was being fussed over. He put a chubby hand on Arthur's cheek, attempting to ward him off. Instead of taking the hint, Britain took the hand kissing it, something Alfred found yucky. When it was released, he waved the hand around, attempting to remove the wet saliva. Arthur then laid down next to him and dragged him closer, encircling him with one arm. It was worse than the blankets. This was one step closer to the metal shackles he'd seen the new men bring. Only, Britain obviously didn't mean to punish him. In fact, he was really trying to . . . comfort him. And so, America did not resist. There was no point if Britain meant no harm. And as if to drive the case home, the other hand stroked his head.

"So, you understand why I don't let you go outside alone," his voice soothing like the rustling trees outside. It was nice not being tossed over his shoulder like a large sack of potatoes but cradled like precious gold.

And, yet, it didn't get rid of his anxiety and hope. He looked out his one precious window. Somewhere out there, his mother waited. He understood well enough that the man didn't want him to leave but was it really for his own protection? Or did he want something else? He didn't have anything anyone would want. His previous hermano had made that very clear. This was different though. The man had asked him for nothing and had treated him well, more or less. Maybe, he was looking out for him in his own strange way? Britain had protected him from the other man, even if he was still uneasy about it, and he'd kept him from being kidnaped by the witch. Then, there was the horrible potions the man had made him drink which had cured him despite his initial misgivings. Maybe, Alfred could live with his current situation, just for a little while, at least . . . until his mother came back.

"You 'og?"he asked, and Britain nodded reluctantly.

"Not what I was going for but yes, if you're bull headed enough to let yourself drown, I'll pull you out," he said sourly.

"Night,"America said, turning his back on the man, once more. Britain sat upright preparing to make his leave, and America immediately sat upright, latching onto his arm. He'd never really been completely on his own before. He didn't want to start now.

"'Ay pwease," he said, and Britain froze, baffled and guffawing when America proved to have the strength to hang on.

"You can't force me to do what you bloody well please," Britain said, managing to move him a few inches with each consecutive push. America shut his eyes. He wished he hadn't. Alfred had started to see scary things lately.

"You said you'd protect me," America shouted. Arthur scowled, but it became obvious that he'd won the battle when the man joined him under the covers.

"Oh, that you can say perfectly," he complained, and America nodded eagerly, unsure why but going with it.

"It's expensive," he said, and America latched onto his arm again.

"I 'on't wa' to 'e only," he claimed, confusing the man. America just squeezed tighter. The man attempt to toss him up in the air again, but failed when America kept his vice like grip.

"You're really going to hang onto my arm all night?" he asked, and America nodded.

"Pwease," he said, making Britain sigh.

"Just this once," he said, blowing out the candle on the night stand. America happily loosened his grip and snuggled closer, forgetting that he'd much rather someone else hold him like that, but this would do, until his mother came back. She would. Wouldn't she? He wasn't his brother. He wasn't forgettable. At least, he didn't think so . . .

_ And waited _. . .

"Again? Fine, you win. We can go outside for a little while," Britain said, after he caught him by the window again. America quickly climbed down, jumping into Britain's arms. The man caught him, but almost tumbled into the floor.

"Early?" he asked, not believing the man would really open the door.

"After breakfast," he said, and America hugged him tightly.

"I'm glad you're excited, but I can't breathe," Britain gasped, and America released him, backing away shyly.

"No, it's okay, come on, I made you something special," he said, taking hold of America's hand. Playing along, he followed, curious. He didn't get gifts often.

"'p'cial?" Alfred asked, and Arthur nodded.

"I coerced France into making some crepes," England said, putting the umbrella back in its place. America made the connection quickly, poor other man. He sounded it out experimentally.

"Ants?" Alfred said, and England chuckled.

"Close enough,"he said, lifting him onto the seat. Britain placed the crepes in front of him, and America stabbed them with his fork until he managed to get a piece into his mouth. It kind of reminded him of bread but softer and sweeter.

"Yum," he said, stabbing at his plate some more.

"Yes, it's definitely different," Britain said, taking hold of Alfred's hands and showing him how to properly eat the crepes. Seeing that he could eat the crepes faster this way, he emulated the technique and finished.

"Would you like some more?" Britain asked, and America remembered his stomach ache and shook his head.

"Maybe later then," he said, taking both their plates and washing them in a basin on the counter while some sort of contraption magically pumped water out. Alfred left his chair, and tugged the man's pants. Britain looked down while in the middle of rinsing a plate.

"Yes?" he asked, and America pointed to the water.

"Oh, you want to know were the water is coming from," he said, and America nodded.

"Same place it's always come from, we just have easier access to it. Not everyone's so lucky," he said, and Alfred nodded, wondering how the water didn't flood the house if it was connected to the lake somehow. He pushed the lever like the man had and watched the water spill out.

"You're a curious one, that will make teaching you easier," Britain said, putting away the dried dishes and removing him from the water pump.

"You can play in the stream outside. It's a ways off, but it's not too difficult to get to, " he said, taking the key from key holder with relative ease. America pursed his lips jealously. He'd tried and failed several times to reach it on his own.

"Now, I know it's been a while since you've been outside, but I don't want you wandering off, stay where I can see you," he said. Alfred took a deep breath. He missed fresh air. He tugged at the man's collar and pointed down.

"You want to walk?" he asked, and America nodded eagerly.

"Alright, but stick close to me until we get there," he said, and Alfred did as he was told, disappointed when he saw no sign of his mother.

"Provided nothing goes wrong, we'll do things like this more often," he said. America nodded absently, looking for foot prints or signs of other people in the area, nothing yet.

"Don't touch anything. This place isn't exactly my backyard," he said, but America knew well enough what was safe and what wasn't. Alfred whistled and a few birds answered him.

"I would prefer you don't draw attention to yourself here," Britain said, pausing when he noticed Alfred covered in birds. He smiled ruefully when the man's jaw dropped.

"You're going to be a show off when you're older aren't you?" he said, and Alfred didn't understand. He shrugged, making the birds fly off. He ran forward, leaving the man behind. Alfred slowed down as he didn't have anywhere to run to. The man caught him and carried him the rest of the way. He wrapped his arms along the man's neck and used him as a look out post.

"Are you looking for some of your furry friends?" Britain asked. America thought about it and decided this was an acceptable excuse for why he was keeping a look out.

"Ya," Alfred said. Britain put him down.

"Try this," he said, handing him a stick. He poked the ground experimentally.

"Oh, this is a flute. You blow into it," Britain said, taking the flute and blowing into the large hole and positioning his fingers on the other holes, moving them up and down . Some strange sound came out of it. Many of his small woodland mammals and birds came out.

"Wow," he said, picking up one of his bunnies and listening attentively. The man continued to make bird like sounds with his strange stick, until he realized just how large their entourage had gotten. He stopped, handing him the flute.

"Now you try," Arthur said. He blew into the flute, dropping it when the strange stick made a high pitch noise. Most of the animals left, except a few of his bunnies who stuck around.

"It okay," he said, causing the bunnies to run off.

"We'll practice later," Britain said, putting the stick away. They walked, and Alfred started to notice a faint rustling. He looked up to see if the man heard it, but the man was stiff and facing forward unaware of his mom's close proximity.

"Here we are," Britain said, gesturing to the small stream. Alfred momentarily forgot his mission and ran forward, splashing around the shallow rocky edge, giggling. The man sat under a tree by the stream and watched him.

"Be careful, don't stay in there too long. I don't want you catching a cold," he said, taking out some papers and busing himself with that. Then, he heard a low whistle coming from a nearby bush. Alfred picked up a rock and threw it experimentally at the bush. The rock bounced back, and he saw his mother's hand beckoning him. He hesitated and looked back at the man who was running his fingers through his hair, muttering about something called "money."

"Ayashe hurry," his mother said, voice hushed and pleading. She never sounded so frail before. America crawled into the bush and succumbed to the sudden embrace. It wasn't forceful but tentative and feeling as if checking if he were really there.

_ Until I finally figured out, something was terribly wrong. _

Her hands were rougher than the man's, and it bothered him that he didn't want to touch her. Especially, when there were small welts on her face that hadn't been there before. She released him and said something he couldn't understand. He stared back at her blankly. She must have realized he didn't understand as she grabbed his hand and led the way. She must have known the man would realize his disappearance soon, but she didn't carry him this time, limping forward and wearily checking behind her. She stopped abruptly and coughed, leaning heavily against a tree. He attempted to come closer, but his mother shook her head. Alfred stood there and waited, jumping at the slightest sound. He hadn't imagined this when he pictured returning home. He had expected her to break down the door and charge in, not slink away and depend on the forest's cover for safety. She said something else as she slid to the floor but all he could understand was one word, Ayashe, over and over again.

_My mother was sick._


	7. The Divide

The Divide

After he said those words, Alfred did not speak for a long time. And, even if he would never admit it, saying the words out loud had affected him greatly, he covered his eyes, and if Matthew had to guess, it was to hide the tears that were surely underneath. Canada had never heard what happened while he was away, but he had inferred this much from what he remembered of his mother. Apparently, she had shown signs of sickness much sooner than he had thought. He couldn't imagine the pain she had gone through in the years before well . . . yeah. England similarly shut down and didn't look at either of them. If they hadn't disposed of the alcohol, Arthur probably would have downed the bottle right then.

"It's late. I think we should stop," Alfred said, wiping his eyes. Before he could stand up and turn in, Matthew handed him some apple juice from the cooler. It wasn't the fancy stuff, but he hoped that it would buy him some time. If he let America stop here, he would never hear the end, and Matthew was no longer satisfied filling in the gaps with his own haphazard guesses.

"Hey, I know this is hard but I-" he started to say. Alfred shook his head, putting the apple juice down, leaving it untouched. Then, England interrupted while he gathered the fragmented remains of his umbrella.

"He has a point. I think by now we all know the ending," he said, about to make his own mad dash to one of the guest rooms upstairs. America grabbed his sleeve, halting him in his tracks. England sighed, letting the broken umbrella drop to the ground.

"Make up your mind why don't you? No one is forcing you to continue," he said, and Canada looked guiltily at the floor. He wasn't forcing him to continue per say.

"Sit down," Alfred said, and England complied but only after he tugged his sleeve again. Alfred opened the can of apple juice and took a swig. He had trouble putting the can down with his shaking hand. Matthew wasn't sure if it was nerves or if he was starting to hit the threshold where alcohol affected him.

_From here on in, I had trouble understanding my mother. I didn't know why at the time, but I later realized it was Britain's fault. Before you say anything Arthur, it was an unintentional consequence of you trying to teach me English. My ability to mimic and comprehend other languages became less reliable as I started associate words with English. So just about everything I'm telling you from this point on, I pieced together long after._

For the first time in a while, America wanted to stay put. If he went outside, the man might get him, and what if his mother needed him? No, he wasn't leaving the hut, no matter what anyone in the village said. They had been lucky to be found by the same hunter that had tried to teach him before, apparently his mother had anticipated something like this happening. Maybe, he didn't quite understand what the hunter had said. The important thing was not to panic and stay. He would get her water. He would make sure she didn't get worse. He wouldn't be a bad son- not again.

The hunter and more importantly, the village healer entered the hut to examine his mother. Previously, he had laid his head on her chest to reassure himself that she was still breathing. Knowing better than to get in the way, he moved, only to end up next to the hunter. He spoke rapidly, and he only caught a few words in between the Ayashe's and Ageni's. Still, America felt better when the hunter patted his back and offered him fish. The gesture consoled him more than words ever could. As for the elder, he mainly observed, occasionally shaking his head. What worried America most was that his instincts had been correct, the elder wouldn't touch her.

"We both know what she has, but I know not what it means for one such as her,"The elder said and what was said, made the hunter sad. America watched them both, fidgeting nervously. The elder hadn't even tried giving her medicine. He only did that when the person wasn't going to last very long. The hunter turned to him and patted his head, saying something in a voice so low that America didn't hear it. Right now, he didn't care. Alfred wished they would stop messing with his hair. One day, some tuft of hair would stick up and never go back down.

"And the boy? Should we try and remove him?" Whatever was said, the elder clearly didn't agree. He shook his head, looking down at America.

"You are young. Still full of life and unaware of a spirit's potential wrath, it is best not to upset either until we are fully aware of Ageni's ailments," the elder said, and the hunter unexpectedly grabbed America. He was too preoccupied to struggle. So long as he didn't leave the hut, it didn't matter.

"But the boy, surely, he will get infected if he stays here," he said. Another string of words that meant nothing to him, until, the hunter stood and prepared to remove him. America stiffened and immediately developed a vice grip on the man's arm. He hated being small and easy to carry, he hated being taken away all the time, and most of all, he hated being told what to do. He wasn't leaving the tent, and they of all people should understand why. He'd break the man's arm if he had to.

" Again, you see a boy. I see a frightened spirit who does not yet understand his place. He is stronger than you think. Let him be," the elder said, and Alfred understood the gist of it. He increased his grip on the man's arm to further prove the elder's point. The man hastily put him down and inspected his arm-only a little red. America smiled, letting him know that he wasn't sorry. There was a change, one that by now Alfred had witnessed many times before. He wouldn't be picking him up again, and he was fine with that. He didn't need another parent. The hunter begrudgingly sat down. America ignored him all together and sat closer to his mother. The elder said a prayer, familiar enough to relieve some of America's anxiety. Taking out an assortment of herbs, he addressed America in a way that was usually reserved for his mother with a careful and reverent respect.

"Ayashe, I will do what I can to help her, but it is important you do not leave. If she does not wake up, you will have to take her place," he said, and America looked down, uncertain how to tell him that he understood little else but his own name right now. He shook his head, and the elder frowned.

"Can't you see your exploits have brought your mother nothing but harm?" he said, and by the biting tone, America knew he didn't get his point across. What could he say? Could he still speak to them? Alfred could feel the tears beginning to pile up. It was all getting to be too much.

"I don't understand," America said, and both the hunter and elder looked at him curiously.

"What don't you understand?" the elder asked. He grabbed a fistful of his robe and played with the fabric, trying to focus on saying as much as he could with as little words as possible.

"Most words since man took me," he said. The hunter seemed shocked at first but gradually became angry as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

"How could this happen? Didn't she teach him anything? Did he-" the hunter's words came out faster than usual. Alfred mainly paid attention to the elder who had grown somber but otherwise remained calm.

"Hush, what's done is done, you must understand that they perceive time differently than we do. No one expected these strangers to come and make training him as soon as possible so crucial," the elder said as Alfred tolerated him patting his head. He started preparing some sort of medicinal drink, and Alfred found it eerie how the elder stared at him the whole time.

"Ayashe has spent time with this other spirit, and I fear he has left an impression. If he adopts the stranger's ways, it does not bode well for us," he said. The hunter nodded, and Alfred wondered why they kept staring at him. He didn't mean to forget words. It just kept happening.

The elder attempted to shake his mother awake, resulting in mild groans and labored breathing. She refused to open her eyes and turned so most of the pressure was redistributed to her side. Alfred frowned, patting her cheek repeatedly. She responded with a low whimper. America hesitated. Did it hurt? He flinched when she grabbed his hand. Her eyes fluttered opened and immediately fixated on him.

"Where-" she started to ask him before the elder cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"This young man brought you and Ayashe back to the village when you failed to return on your own," he said, gesturing to the hunter. She nodded, shakily sitting upright, strength still diminished and eyes still muddled. She pointed to her lap, and America obediently sat down, not minding so much when she played with his hair.

"Ageni?" the elder asked, appearing perturbed by her utter lack of focus. She eyed him wearily, using her free hand to bring attention to her injured leg and scarred face.

"What do you expect me to say? I will die as the rest of you are slowly succumbing to ailments you do not know how to cure. I am no different. The only question that remains is when," she said, bouncing him on her good leg. The two men appeared to grow even more uncomfortable after his mother spoke, and the hunter in particular more frustrated. The elder recovered first and handed his mother the remedy he concocted. She drank it gladly and uttered a thanks.

"Surely, a spirit cannot die so easily. You are not like us. You are strong. This sickness is nothing," the hunter said, causing his mother to laugh. Generally, she only laughed once in a blue moon, and America wondered what he had said that was so funny.

"I am not the same, but I am no god. Do not underestimate how much I need all of you. You give me my strength. Perhaps, this won't kill me, but many are dying, more than ever before, it will affect me, even if it doesn't destroy me completely," she said, coughing as if a rock was lodged in her throat. The two men exchanged worried glances. The elder sighed and dismissed the hunter. He did not leave right away, instead taking the time to memorize his mother's features. The elder asked him to leave again, much less patient than he used to be. He must have taken his mother's words to heart, whatever they were. He obliged but not before saying goodbye to him personally and ruffling his hair. America pushed the hand away grumpily. The hunter wasn't put off by his reaction and waved goodbye to his mother. She acknowledged him with a nod but otherwise did not seem to care if he stayed or went.

"I will be strong for you," he vowed, and that at least, earned a smile from her. Like Britain's, they weren't easy to get. The elder similarly gave Ageni a lingering look as if she might disappear if he blinked.

"I have done all I can. Rest, I don't think he will run off anytime soon," the elder said, sparing him a glance. He turned his back on the elder and nestled closer to his mother. Ageni nodded, stroking America's hair and whispering reassurances to him. The elder finally left, and America looked up at his mother. He had lots of questions.

"What's happening? Why is everyone so worried? You'll be okay right?" America asked. She kissed his forehead.

"Do not worry. I promise you'll be okay," she said, encircling him with her free arm.

_I think that was the first tactful omission I ever heard. She never promised me she would be okay, and I wasn't picturing my life without her at this point. That would change quickly. _

"Good," he said, latching onto her arm. He noticed some more welts there which hadn't been there before.

"Am I going to get sick too?"

"I don't think you will. Your future isn't the same as mine," she said. Alfred furrowed his brows in confusion. That didn't make any sense. They were always together.

"Yes it is," he said, and instead of arguing with him, she started humming some remembered bird song. Unfortunately, any bird song now reminded him of the man and his strange stick. He tried desperately not to think about it, tossing and turning to make himself more comfortable. She held him more tightly, and the humming became more pronounced. He stopped struggling, taking the hint. Sleep took hold of him and for once, he wasn't worried where he would end up next time he woke up.

America stopped abruptly and nudged England who had started to show signs of dozing off. Arthur jumped slightly before realizing where he was. He yawned and looked for a clock that simply wasn't there. Canada preferred things this way. When he was in this cabin, he was looking to get away from it all and the abundance of snow created an alien time sucking void Canada could use to think. Most other people would go crazy spending weeks here, but when Matthew returned from vacation, it was easy to tell the difference if they could see him at all.

"Before I continue, I need you to explain how the hell you didn't notice I was gone long enough for us to escape. It's been bugging me for decades," America said. England rubbed his eyes and focused on the wall for a few minutes. He stretched, pushing Kumajiro off his lap who moved to Alfred's instead. Arthur looked down and started to speak. The words forced and tired for reasons that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

_ There were problems at home. I was preoccupied writing letters and looking over reports, among other things. I honestly didn't think you'd leave after your change of attitude that morning. The sudden quiet didn't bother me. Of course, it should have, but all the same, you were simply lucky. Oh, shush, I am not a horrible guardian. Don't' you nod your head too, Canada. _

Britain finished reading Charles's letter, basically telling him to come home for a visit because the entire parliament was being boorish. Again, Arthur had an inkling this wasn't something that could be solved by one measly visit. And then, there was the matter of the boy. . .

The boy- where was he? He collected his papers and surveyed the area- gone. Of course, he had brought him outside too soon. Well, Alfred couldn't have gone too far. He checked for any signs of where he could have possibly gone. If he had kept to the stream, maybe, he could find a muddy footprint- nothing. Hmm . . . a few fallen leaves, he traversed the bushes, noticing more fallen leaves, but the trail dried up before he could find the little bugger. He searched for an hour, finding no further signs of him in the nearby area. No, he couldn't have lost him a second time.

"Alfred! Alfred! Come out or I'll never let you go outside again," he shouted, and as soon as he said it, he realized threatening the boy at this stage was counter intuitive. He collected himself and tried again.

"America, please come out. Aren't you hungry? Would you like some pie?" he asked, and this time some hare popped its head from the bushes. Remembering his fondness for rabbits, he grabbed it. The thing struggled and kicked, but Arthur kept his grip on the thing, expecting Alfred to come out and retrieve it. After a few minutes, it became obvious that this wouldn't get him anywhere. He freed the rabbit, and it scampered off. He could keep searching, but the boy had obviously traveled farther than he had imagined. But how? He narrowed his eyes- the witch. Blast it all. He had practically delivered him on the silver platter when they entered the woods. By now, the damn woman could have reached an Indian encampment. Arthur wasn't foolish enough to try and take him directly, if she had. Still, all he had to go on right now was a hunch. He kept walking, having a better idea where to go. The closest village was no secret, and he had found Alfred wandering alone last time, not that he expected it to happen again.

He neared the encampment, unable to see him from its outskirts. How could he properly search for him without arousing suspicion? So, he waited, and sure enough, a man, different from the others, judging by his clothing and ornate staff, went into a hut in the center of the small village. Perhaps, he was there. Under normal circumstances, Arthur could have easily walked into the village and be welcomed as a guest. Right now, he wouldn't be treated too kindly for taking the boy. So, he would have to return at nightfall and try to retrieve him then.

_So, I left and went to talk to Sweden who had proven to be decent company before. Our second encounter unfortunately did not prove anymore fruitful. _

"You're leaving?" he asked, astonished to see Sweden packing. Berwald nodded, handing things off to Tino.

"Some of my people will stay, but there is nothing for me here," he said, slinging a pack over his shoulder.

"But I need some advice," he said. Berwald adjusted his glasses and looked him over.

"Very well, sit," he said, gesturing to the log. They both sat, and Berwald told Tino to go on without him.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked, offering him some leftover meat. He took it, mulling over a question that had been plaguing him since he started a tug of war with that savage woman over Alfred.

"I lost the boy again. Should I stop trying to take him?" he asked. Berwald sighed, made all the more disapproving by the man's hunched figure, his sheer size adding to the intimidating gargoyle-esque frown.

"I think you came to talk to me, not because you plan to take my advice but because you want to hear yourself talk. At the end of the day, you will not listen," Berwald said.

"So, you're not going to help me," he said as Sweden chewed on a piece of meat. He payed special attention to the grass below him as he chewed. For a moment, Britain thought he wouldn't hear anything else come from Berwald's mouth. He was mistaken.

"Leave the boy. He obviously does not want to stay with you. Even if he did, like me, you cannot stay forever. What will you do if you have to return? Would it have been worth it to leave the boy with no one to care for him, then or are you just that selfish? " Sweden said, and Britain scowled.

"Oh, What do you know? I'll get him back regardless. Maybe, I'll even take him with me, " he said, and Sweden shook his head, preparing to leave.

"This has been pointless. I hope you someday understand why this will end badly for you," he said, walking away. Britain muttered curses under his breath, choosing to leave the abandoned camp as well. Selfish-poppycock- was is selfish to feed him? Clothe him? Teach him? What had that woman done really? Leave him alone in the woods multiple times, that's what.

_Again, I visited France. Oh, don't you both look at me like I'm daft. His advice had helped before, and I was still miffed at Sweden. _

"Hello, you British bastard. What do you need now? Crème Brûlèe? Ice cream? Pie? Barging in during lunch, I cannot work under these conditions!" he said, pointing his sword at him, still completely enraged from their last meeting. He held his hands up and tried to diffuse the situation.

"I'm not here to extort more desserts from you. I need advice," he said, and France reluctantly lowered his sword. He pointed his dirty French finger at him.

"Fine, sit down, eat, we will talk after lunch and not before," he said, and Britain nodded. Arthur obliged, glad for the bread and soup. They didn't talk as Francis requested. Once they had both finished eating, France washed the plates by the stream. Britain sat there awkwardly, waiting for him to return. It occurred to him that like Sweden, France didn't actually have a permanent residence here, yet he showed no signs of leaving and calling it quits like Sweden did. Then, he couldn't always find him hanging around. Where did he go for weeks at a time? He wasn't given much more time to think about this as France returned sooner than expected.

"Go ahead," he said, sitting down on a conveniently nearby rock. Britain didn't mind sitting on the mat but was annoyed that Francis towered over him by simply sitting on a rock.

"I lost him again," he said, leading Francis to mutter abruti.

"And, what do you expect me to do? Wave my hands and conjure him here? Either learn to keep an eye on him, lock the door, or I don't know, actually get him to like you," he said, and Britain suppressed the urge to slap him.

"I think he might be with his mother. If he isn't, he is lost in the woods. I need you to check and make sure he is in the village," Britain said.

"You want a favor?" he sputtered, and Arthur nodded.

"They trust you," Arthur said, and Francis shook his head.

"You're on your own. I am not getting involved," France said, slicing his hands through the air.

"Do you think I'm selfish?" he asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?" France asked by now irritated by his presence.

"Sweden said I should leave the boy alone," Britain said, and France patted his back.

"You should but you won't," he said. Arthur thought about it, giving up almost seemed preferable at this point but . . .

"Why would you say that?" he asked. Francis shook his head, taking a drink of water from some container.

"Because, long ago, there was a little boy alone in the woods who wished someone would come along and take care of him. You won't leave him alone because he reminds you of yourself," Francis said, giving him one more pat before returning to his tent.

"Whatever you do Britain, remember this boy isn't alone," France said, and he decided it was time to leave but not before whispering one more thing.

"What do you know?"

_I've heard enough. I get the idea. As for what I was up to, well, it wasn't much. I didn't leave my mother's side for several days. What I remember most from that time is the look of utter desperation on her face when she could not get me to understand her. Then, there were the times I understood her perfectly, and in that small window of time, she tried to teach me as much as she could. _

"So even if you get attached to a person, you have to understand that they will make mistakes, and you must make decisions based on the good of the whole not the individual," she said. America nodded even if he didn't really understand. When would he ever have time to get attached to a person? Let alone enough to jeopardize the land and the people. He wasn't that interested in them. They didn't seem all that special.

"Now, this doesn't have anything to do with your lessons, but Ayashe, I don't want you to be afraid of going outside. Take a break," she said. He pointed to her, and she bit her lip.

"Yes, I'll still be here when you get back, just don't leave the village," she said, and America nodded. He could pick her some flowers maybe. There were a few growing in a small patch of land in the outskirts of the village. So, he walked and noticed instead of ignoring his presence like they usually did, one or two villagers would stare at him and whisper. The hunter was even bold enough to follow him to the dirt patch.

"Hi, I'll be fine. You can go," he said, picking flowers. Normally, he would leave them alone, but he figured that his mother hadn't seen something this pretty in a while. The hunter shook his head.

"It's my fault you were taken the first time," he explained, and America frowned.

"No, it wasn't" he said simply, noticing one of his rabbits in the bushes. It looked strange, the eyes weren't quite right and the fur looked more like that blanket the man had given him once. The hunter didn't argue with him, but he didn't leave either. He went over to the bunny and patted its head. It felt weird too. The hunter attempted to grab it, but America got in his way.

"Don't do that," he said. He didn't like people taking his bunnies, and only mildly accepted that they were a good source of food. The hunter listened but continued to hover. He tried to pick the bunny up only to find that it wasn't a bunny at all. It was a hand, and soon, the other hand snatched him up.

"No," he screamed and scrambled away when the hunter slammed his war club on the man's arm. He couldn't hear what the man was saying, but he didn't particularly care, focusing on gathering the fallen flowers. The hunter grabbed him before he could pick them all up. The hunter shouted for the nearby men to come although America knew the man had already gone. The hunter returned him to his mother, and he held up the pitiful broken flower.

"Oh, Ayashe, thank you, but I don't think you should stray too far from the village's center from now on," she said, coughing again. He nodded, hugging her torso. She embraced him, and proceeded to explain how land disputes between tribes worked as well as why it was a bad idea to make a land treaty with the strangers who often misunderstood what all the contract allowed them to do. America nodded, thinking it would be a long time before he could actually do his mom's job. It sounded hard. He could barely keep his bunnies alive, let alone people.

"When I'm gone, there will be no one to take care of you. I have charged this village with your care, and that man who we owe a great deal of debt has offered to house you," she said, and America squeezed her more tightly.

"No," he said, and his mother rubbed his back.

" Shh, I have no intention of dying, but if I do, I want to know you'll be in good hands. I care for you and your brother very much,"she said, and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Who?" he asked, and she laughed lightly.

"You'll see him again soon when I am well enough to travel. Perhaps, then, you will remember. He looks just like you," she said, and he blinked, the memories slowly resurfacing, oh yeah, the weird kid with the polar bear.

"Pahana?" he asked. She nodded, a sudden deep frown taking over her features. Then, it happened again. She started to speak, and the words were unfamiliar. He shook his head. She tried again.

"No matter what happens, never forget who you are. I will not always be around to remind you," He burrowed his head into her chest. She sighed and said some more things that he would never know.

"Never mind, just please, do not forget me," she said, cradling him closer.

_So yeah, there was a lot of talking, and I almost never left the hut in the next two weeks. And, it so wasn't Arthur's only attempt to grab me either. I had lost any semblance of trust I had in him. _

"Ayashe, you can go play with the children. If you can tell me, what you have learned in the last two weeks?" Ageni asked. He petted the bunny on his lap and mumbled a response.

"So, I can hear you," she said. He looked up and answered.

"Don't try and grab bunnies that look strange," he said.

"And?" she asked, and he let the bunny run out of the hut.

"Not to run into the forest if I hear cries for help," he said, even if it still sounded wrong. The whole thing had turned out to be one of the man's convoluted plans, and the damsel in distress had been France.

"Besides that," Ageni said, looking for a particular answer.

"Don't eat strange food even if it tastes yummy," she slapped her forehead.

"No, not what I was looking for but please don't do that again. It's not like I starve you," she said, and he nodded.

"Stay where the other villagers can see me?" he tried again, remembering her repeating that a lot.

"Yes, good, what else?" she asked, and he thought of the other ways the man tricked him.

"Don't listen to the strangers because they lie?" he said, and she nodded.

"And, come ask you if I'm not sure what to do," he said, and she ruffled his hair.

"Exactly, you can go play now, and don't be afraid, the people will look after you," she said. He hesitantly stepped out of the hut_. _He played with the kids for a while, and usually, this was enough to entertain him, but eventually, he would realize that they thought very differently. Playing the same repetitive game was fine so long as they could run around but America needed a challenge and tag could only offer so much stimulation. Bored again, he looked for the bunny he had released a while ago. He whistled, so he wouldn't have to go into the forest and look for him. Instead of hearing the bunny come through the bushes, he heard the man's flute. He froze, waiting for the man to show himself. He didn't. Instead, he heard the flute play a different tune, closer this time. America backed away some, not much but enough to reassure himself the man could not suddenly grab him from the bushes.

"Go away, I don't want to play anymore," he shouted. The bird song stopped, and he felt his heart thumping rapidly. No doubt, he would try to snatch him again. He was about to run when the man finally spoke.

"Wait, don't you want to know why I keep coming to get you?" Britain asked.

"I don't care," he said, picking up some rocks and throwing them at him. Arthur ignored the rocks, wincing when one hit him square in the forehead. Alfred stopped. The man was bleeding.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay. I understand you're upset, but if you could, would you mind doing me a favor?" he asked, and America backed away some more.

"I'm not trying to trick you. I just need to ask you some questions," he said.

"Questions?" he asked, moving a little closer. The man, previously relying on the foliage for coverage, nodded and stepped out into the open. No one was around. It made America nervous.

"Yes, you're speaking quite well, by the way," he said.

"No," he said. He couldn't even understand his mother most of the time now. This was another fluke. The man crouched down to meet his eyes.

"Yes, now, tell me, why do you think I came?" he asked. Based on what he knew of the man, he had an idea of what he wanted to hear.

"To protect me?" he asked. The man nodded, beckoning him closer. He shook his head. The man held a small flat disk.

"Biscuit?" he asked. Alfred came closer, taking the disk. He sniffed it. Some sort of bread? He took a bite out of it, like most foods the man gave him, not too bad but not that great either. The man picked him up. Alfred finished the biscuit and attempted to squeeze out of the man's grip. Much like before, it didn't do him much good.

"Calm down. Nothing is going to happen to you. Would you like another biscuit?" he said, holding up another one. Alfred took it, satisfied when the man didn't try to run off with him.

"Now, tell me, why do you think your mother sends you outside?" he asked. He nearly chocked on the biscuit. Had the man been spying on him? He wiped the crumbs from his mouth.

"Because she worries about me," he said.

" Really? Isn't it possible that she's sick of you and wants some time to herself?" Britain asked. Alfred swallowed the gritty bread. He hadn't thought of that.

"I guess," he said, absently accepting another biscuit. Ageni never seemed to mind him being around.

"So, wouldn't it be nice to give your mother a break?" America bit into the biscuit. Britain had a point. He nodded.

"Then, come with me for a little while," Britain said, putting him down. America looked back at the village and then at the man.

"You'll bring me back?" he asked. Britain took his hand.

"Of course, we will be back in a few hours after I show you my ship," Arthur said_. _Alfred remembered thinking that would be the case when he entered the house. He wondered if it would end up being a similar experience.

"Ship?" he asked.

"A ship is like a giant house that floats in the water," Britain said. America nodded, thinking it actually sounded interesting.

"Splash?" he said.

"Sure, we could go to the beach afterwards, but it will take longer. You might have to spend the night," Arthur said. Alfred stopped walking, dropping dramatically to the floor.

"No," he said. Britain rolled his eyes and picked him up.

"Fine, no beach then," he said. Alfred pouted. It had been a few months since he'd been in open water.

_ Okay, Canada, you look like you want to slap me upside the head for going back. Relax, after two weeks of trying to force me to go back, he dramatically switched tactics. For one, he kept his promise. _

"See, wasn't that better than being cooped up all day?" he asked. Alfred didn't answer, finding it hard to keep awake, but he knew better than to close his eyes. He'd end up right back in the house.

"There, run along" he said, putting him down. Wobbly, he took a few steps forward and fell down. Arthur helped him up.

"Did you like the ship?" he asked. Alfred nodded, rubbing his eyes. At first, the sheer number of trees they had cut down to make all those ships had upset him. Arthur had quickly shoved a biscuit in his mouth and used the sail as a slide to placate him. After that, he had run up and down the thing, much to the man's chagrin. He wouldn't mind visiting the ship again.

"Good, next time we'll go to the beach," he said, giving him another biscuit. He took it and ran off.

_We did and again, he let me go afterwards. My mother had no idea, and by now, the hunter did not find it necessary to follow me everywhere, particularly when I spent the majority of my time in the hut. While she wasn't getting worse, she wasn't getting any better either and nothing the elders tried had any effect, not the remedies, not the sweat lodge, and not any sort of ritual. I was starting to accept that my mother was on permanent bed rest, and it made field trips with Arthur all the more appealing._

"I'm glad you have been spending more time outside, Ayashe, but the elders tell me that they cannot find you for hours at a time. You are not wandering too far are you?" she asked. America shook his head furiously. She poked his belly.

"You also seem a little tubby. Have you been asking the villagers for extra food?" she asked, making America's face flush. He shook his head again.

"Then, you probably just need more time to run and play. Go ahead, I'll teach you a little more about farming when you get back," Ageni said, and America made a face.

"It's important, especially if you want to keep your fat belly," she said, poking him again. He hugged his belly, feeling self conscious. He'd have to lay off the biscuits that the man kept offering him. America casually navigated away from the crowded center and headed to the outskirts where the man was waiting for him. He looked a lot different today, wearing even more ostentatious fabric, America liked the red coat and the hat, especially the feathered hat. Alfred ran at him, and Arthur embraced him. He was used to being carried by now and did not struggle when Arthur lifted him up.

"Where are we going today?" he asked. Arthur tried to fix his hair. Alfred shoved his hand away. He still didn't like that. Britain offered him a biscuit. He shook his head. Arthur shrugged and ate it himself. Like every other time, he was quick to take them as far from the village as possible. Alfred looked back, tightening the grip on the man's neck.

"I said where I we going?" he asked. Normally, Arthur told him right away. Arthur stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. Alfred begrudgingly ate it.

"Home," Arthur said, causing Alfred to disentangle himself from him and attempt to escape, but Arthur had a good grip on his torso. So, he was basically kicking nothing and impossibly trying to squeeze out his fat belly from Arthur's grip.

"So, I take it you don't want to go to the house?" he asked after a few minutes of Alfred kicking uselessly. Alfred stopped and nodded, hanging limply, the sack of potatoes feeling returning. Arthur patted his head.

"Too bad," he said, and Alfred bit his arm. If he really thought he was getting away with this a third time, he was sadly mistaken. The man flinched but did not immediately let go. He tickled his belly with his free hand, catching him completely off guard. Alfred tried biting harder so Arthur would be forced to react. Somehow, he had memorized all of his most sensitive spots. Alfred finally laughed out loud, and Arthur stuffed another biscuit in his mouth. He ate that one too.

"Tell me, who have you been spending more time with lately?" he asked. Alfred didn't look at him. The man lifted his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. Alfred gulped, tasting the remaining scraps of biscuits stuck in his throat.

"You," he said, not even registering when Britain had given him another biscuit. The man lifted him higher and instructed him to hold onto his neck. He did so, and the man even went so far as to manually close his eyes. He didn't open them.

"Okay, so does it make sense for you to live there when you spend most of your time with me?" he asked, and Alfred mumbled a no.

"This is what's going to happen. Today, I will take you back when the sun begins to set. You will tell your mother that you want a separate room because you haven't been sleeping well. I will pick you up in the morning. You can visit whenever you like from then on, but you will for all intents and purposes be living with me. Do you understand?" the man asked. Alfred nodded, feeling tricked even if he did say he could visit whenever he wanted.

"So if I wanted to spend a whole day there, I could?" he asked.

"You will always return at night," Britain said. Alfred nodded automatically. He blinked profusely, wondering when he had picked up that impulse, another biscuit made its way to his mouth.

"Excellent, now try to cheer up, I bought you new toys since I noticed you were getting tired of the old ones," he said, instantly improving Alfred's mood.

"Yay, toys," he said, opening his eyes and holding onto Britain more tightly. Arthur ruffled his hair.

"I thought that might bring you around," he said, letting Alfred run into the house who never noticed the door locking behind him.

_So, that's how I ended up living with the British devil. Ow, that's not what the hockey stick is for England. Only Canada is allowed to do that. _


	8. The Departure

The Departure

_Despite the time and effort he invested in acquiring me, Britain usually left me to my own devices. He was always busy with paperwork. This tended to make me more determined to get his attention. _

America's initial excitement over his new toys had ebbed. For one thing, his new doll was creepy and not easy to chew on like the one his mother had given him. Yet, he found the little black dots strangely hypnotizing. The thing looked a lot more like a person than his other doll, by now lost somewhere on the forest floor.

Touching the dolls face, he noted the smoothed bark underneath the strange pasty surface. He frowned, yet another thing cut from the trees. He lifted the doll's dress, feeling the elaborate fabric, very different from the plain cloth and simple bead pattern his mother had stitched together. The doll's frills and faux gold threading reminded him of France, and he wondered if this was another thing Britain had stolen from the man. When he'd asked, the man had dodged the question and vaguely mentioned having a similar toy when he was younger.

He poked it, and the doll fell backwards with a thud. Unlike some of the other fancy things in the house, it did not break, and the doll continued to stare blankly at him. If nothing else, America decided the doll was sturdy. He placed it on the bed, next to the ball and cup. Literally, the man had given him another ball and attached it to a cup. Arthur must be running out of ideas.

Alfred picked up the regular ball and left his room. The bunny puppet only made him homesick, the doll paranoid, and the ball and cup had left him unimpressed. Maybe, Arthur could cheer him up. He'd made him return to the house so the least he could do was play with him.

"Hmm . . . what do you want? Aren't you happy with your toys?" Britain said, looking up from his papers. Alfred held up the ball and nudged him with it.

"Play," Alfred said. Arthur shook his head, pulling Alfred's hands down.

"Not right now," he said. Alfred looked at the ball and back at Arthur who had returned his attention to the paperwork on the table. He sighed, letting the ball drop from his hands and roll away. Britain wasn't going to play with him, and Alfred didn't want to be stuck here if he had no one to play with. The man never said he couldn't go home early today.

"I want to go home,"he said, and Arthur put the feather he used to write with down, and turned his chair to face him.

"Very well, I suppose I can play with you for a while," Arthur said, attempting to smile. The smile was no better than that of a hungry wolf circling its dinner. Britain just didn't want him to get away, but America had made up his mind. He wouldn't be dissuaded by the man's words.

"I want to go home," he repeated.

"Didn't you want to play with me?" Arthur asked. Alfred nodded, lower lip jutting out.

" But you said I could go back whenever I wanted," he said. Arthur lifted him onto his lap and whispered in his ear.

"I'll take you back at sundown, not a moment before. Understood?" Britain asked. Alfred instinctively flinched at the stern tone. No one in the village ever talked to him like that, and Britain always tried to intimidate him this way. Gathering his nerve, he glared at him and shouted.

"Liar." A dark look crossed Britain's face, making Alfred hesitate, the man handled him roughly when he was angry. Arthur reached for him, and Alfred pushed his hand away. When he tried a second time, he stood up on Britain's lap and kicked his stomach.

After he did that, he shut his eyes tight, waiting to be wrestled into submission. Sighing, Arthur grabbed his tiny fists in one hand and petted him with the other. He tried to resist being placated but another biscuit made it to his mouth. He sat back down and chewed the treat.

"Now, now, don't throw a temper tantrum. Would you like to play pirates?" Britain asked. Alfred looked up, yet another word he didn't recognize.

"Pirates?" he repeated. Arthur opened a box on the table. Alfred peeked over the man's shoulder. He grinned recognizing the thing in the box. He'd look just like Britain now.

"Yes, I made you a hat," he said, putting it on him. Alfred hugged Arthur and repeated the word happily.

"Hat!" The man raised an eyebrow.

"Drat," he said. Unsure what the man wanted him to do, he repeated that word too.

"Drat." Britain smirked, apparently he had guessed correctly. He was rewarded with another biscuit.

"Cat," he said. Alfred swallowed the last of the biscuit and answered with a little more confidence.

"Cat." Yet another biscuit made its way to his mouth. He didn't think to refuse it. As if to remind him of his growing belly, the man squeezed it. Alfred instantly pushed his hand away. The man did not withdraw his hand and instead secured him with both, lifting him up off the ground.

He looked down at his dangling feet, wondering if the man planned to take him upstairs and put him to bed. Alfred slumped uselessly against the man's body. He didn't like being put to bed early, and it was _barely _three o'clock so Britain just wanted him out of the way. They kept moving forward in the direction of . . . Alfred turned around and fixed his gaze on the front door eagerly. So, it wasn't going to be the same as last time. Britain said another word.

"Catastrophe." America blinked profusely and tilted his head. He wasn't sure how to say that, whatever it meant. What was a drat anyway? A hairy rat?

"Huh?" The man chuckled, and he was denied a fourth biscuit. Alfred pouted, knowing the man only ate it himself to annoy him. Apparently, it was fine to tease him, but the moment Alfred tried drawing a mustache on him with ink, someone went to bed at three p.m. again. Arthur patted his head.

"Never mind, your vocabulary is coming along nicely by the way," Britain said. America nodded absently. When he denied it, the man would force him to agree. Still, he didn't know what any of the words Britain said so America didn't quite see the point of making him repeat a bunch of words. Maybe, the man was sick in the strange funny way?

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Let's see what we can use for swords. Ah, here, take this stick," the man said, handing him the stick. He held it up, vaguely remembering seeing some of the other children whack each other with them. Alfred never really participated when they played like that. Something about the game made him uneasy.

"Now, swipe at me like this," Britain said, slicing through the air a few feet from him. Alfred watched and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Britain wanted to fight him?

"Why?" he asked. Alfred didn't want to accidentally make Arthur mad. The man frowned. Alfred ducked his head down. Apparently, he already had.

"It's a game," Arthur said, tilting his chin up.

"Won't I hurt you?" he asked, knowing the man often freaked out when he showed his actual strength. The man lifted Alfred's hat and ruffled his hair again. Alfred sighed. He should probably get used to it.

"Nonsense, it's all in good fun," Arthur said. Spurred on, Alfred imitated the man's swing. The man knocked the stick out of his hand with his own stick.

"You blocked me," he said, empty handed. Was that the end of the game? When he just stood there, Arthur shook his head and picked up Alfred's fallen stick.

"That's how you play," he explained, returning Alfred's stick.

"Oh, okay" he said, holding the stick like Arthur was. The man hit him on the shoulder with his stick. Alfred rubbed his shoulder. He hadn't expected that.

"Ow," he complained. Arthur put a hand on his forehead, muttering under his breath. America looked down again. He must have done something wrong. The man lifted his chin again, trying his best to smile. Alfred decided he wasn't good at smiling.

"You try blocking me too," Arthur said.

"I don't like game," he said, taking a few steps backward. Arthur grabbed Alfred's shoulders, keeping him from retreating farther. Was is because he was getting closer to the woods?

"It'll get better once you get the hang of it," he said, patting his back. Alfred looked up, clutching the stick close to his chest.

"Will it hurt?" he asked. The man squeezed his hand.

"I'll go easy on you," Arthur said. Alfred shook his head. He wasn't going to get better if the man took pity on him. Also, Alfred could handle a lot more than a simple whack of a stick.

"I can handle it," he said. Arthur smirked, obviously humoring him. Alfred frowned, not liking that the man wasn't taking him seriously. He'd show him that he could play rough too.

" Very well, try your best" he said, stepping away from him so they could swing at each other properly. Alfred put a lot of force into the hit. The man parried him easily. Alfred let his shoulders sag. He wasn't very good at this.

"Much better, try again," he said, striking first. Alfred copied the man and managed to block. Arthur stopped, and Alfred kept himself striking the man's exposed torso, that would probably hurt.

" You have to try and hit me," Arthur said, grabbing Alfred's arm and showing him where he should have jabbed him.

"I don't want to hit you," Alfred said, letting the stick drop to the ground to grab hold of Arthur's arm. He wasn't really angry at the man right this minute, and he didn't want to get carried away and hurt him, especially when Arthur wasn't trying very hard to block him. The man rolled his eyes and tried to push him off. Alfred shook his head.

"No, I don't want to hurt my friend," he said. The man gaped at him and stopped trying to remove Alfred. When he still didn't let go, Arthur crouched down and fixed Alfred's hat. He took the opportunity to wrap his small arms around Arthur's waist as best he could.

_ Funny looking back, I can't believe how much I used to adore you. Ah England, don't leave okay? Good, it's not like I still hate you. _

"Don't worry. We're only play fighting. Come on, I'll show you how to use the field to your advantage," Arthur said, lifting him up and explaining some basic things that his mother had covered ages ago. He already knew bushes made good cover, and that it was better to take the higher ground. Alfred nodded along anyway, correcting Arthur tended to annoy him.

"There you go," he said, putting him on top of a rock. Alfred looked around sulkily. This seemed less like play time and more like his mother's lessons. The man wasn't interested in playing with him, only teaching him what he thought he needed to know. Then, Alfred started to wonder why he would need to know any of this. Would America be expected to fight Britain like he did with France? Alfred tugged Arthur's sleeve.

"I don't want to play anymore," he said, hugging his waist again. Britain pried him off.

"Nonsense, we barely started. Don't get discouraged," Britain said. Alfred shook his head again. Sure, he was fine now, but France wasn't upset with Britain until after they played.

"I don't want to get beat up like France," he said. Arthur laughed, and Alfred frowned dubiously. He wasn't listening. The man fed him a biscuit. He took it reluctantly.

"I swear that you will not end up like France. I would never hurt you on purpose. I actually like you," the man said, lifting his hat and ruffling his hair again. Alfred let him. He figured, his mother did the same, and the man wasn't taking the hint. Alfred snatched the hat back, clutching it close to his chest.

"Promise?" he asked. The man put the hat back on him.

"Promise, but if you don't want to end up like France, you need to learn to fight," Britain said, handing him back the stick. Alfred took it and crossed his arms.

"You said we were going to play. This isn't playing," he said. Britain stroked his chin eyeing Alfred critically. America tugged his sleeve repeatedly. He really wanted to play. Was that so hard? Britain took his hand

"Okay, I suppose we can spice things up a little," he said, bending down, and pulling him forward by his captured arm. Alfred resisted, not liking the look in Britain's eye. America wasn't something to be sliced into tiny pieces, and he was also pulling him much too hard for his liking.

"What are you doing here, you scallywag? Where's my treasure?" he barked at him. America's lip trembled.

"I-I don't know," he stuttered, trying to yank his hand out of Arthur's grip. The man lifted him up and grabbed his chin with his other hand. Alfred started to shake.

"Lies boy, do you know what I do to little thieving vermin?" he asked, an edge to his voice that Alfred didn't recognize.

"Kidnap them?" he said without thinking, oops

"Just for that, I'm going to cut out your tongue," Arthur said, pulling out a sword. Alfred screamed, and Arthur dropped him. America sniffled, and backed away from him. The man put away the sword and made a move to grab him.

"You're mean, and I want to go home," he shouted, kicking Britain in the shin. The man scowled and started to curse.

_ Britain was the one who showed me how to use my imagination, but the first time he tried to play with me this way really freaked me out. I ended up crying my eyes out._

"Look, I'm sorry. Stop crying, I wasn't really going to cut out your tongue," Arthur said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Alfred twisted his finger. The man jerked his hand back.

"That's not how you play, no wonder France runs away from you," Alfred said, puffing his cheeks and pointing his finger at Arthur. The man actually . . . looked upset. Alfred put his finger down.

"Well, that's not really playing. Ah, forget it, go play by yourself," Britain muttered, getting up. Alfred started feeling queasy. The man didn't even check to see if he was following. Alfred grabbed his sleeve. Arthur stopped, and looked back at him as if he were a rat. Alfred's shoulders slumped. Why didn't he like him anymore?

"You'd said you'd play with me," he mumbled. The man tore Alfred's hand away from his sleeve, and in the process of doing so, he let him fall in the dirt. He didn't apologize or help him up. Why? The man cared about him a few minutes ago. What did he do wrong?

"No, apparently, you want to go home, so go, don't come back," the man said, dismissing him with a wave. Alfred considered going. He did want to go back home. Alfred headed toward the forest where he knew his mother was waiting. A few feet from the forest entrance, he looked back to see if the man was watching him go. The man didn't turn around. The man didn't want him. The man was mad because Alfred had cried when he was trying to play with him. He just wanted him to be a big boy and not cry. He could do that. Alfred ran back and latched onto his leg. Britain looked down and asked.

"Oh, what do you want now?"

_This really shouldn't have worked, but I'd become very attached to Britain. I wasn't registering him as a threat, even then._ _I still thought of him as a playmate and a brother. _

"Please don't be mad, I won't cry," he said. Then, the man actually looked at him and smiled, a real smile.

"Very well, remember, I'm not going to hurt you. We're playing," Arthur said, scooping him up and wiping tears from his eyes.

"Okay," Alfred mumbled, latching onto his neck. The man rubbed his back in smooth circular motions. He yawned, barely registering the fact he was moving him away from the forest. He wouldn't mind taking a nap on a bed instead of a mat.

"Now, who do you live with?" Arthur asked him out of the blue. Alfred raised his head, still suffering from drowsiness. Then again, he was sure the man was aware of this.

"Mo-you," Alfred corrected himself quickly. The man didn't like his mother very much, and he was insisting that he come sleep in the house instead of the village from now on.

"Who do you listen to?" Alfred was torn. Couldn't he listen to them both? He didn't answer and closed his eyes to feign sleep. Maybe, the man would give up asking. The man shook him, and he tried desperately to keep his eyes closed.

"Alfred, who do you listen to?"he repeated. When he still didn't answer, the man poked his side. America opened his eyes, knowing a poke could easily change to a jab.

"You and my mom," he said uncertainly, maybe that was a good enough promise. The man didn't like that. He grabbed his head and forced Alfred to look up at him

" If I say something, you listen, regardless of what that wretched woman says, understand?" Eyes downcast, he stayed quiet. So far, his mother hadn't been wrong about the man. He didn't want to make a promise he wouldn't keep.

"Alfred," the man barked, intent completely clear. Even if he resisted, Arthur would make him listen. Alfred flinched and responded accordingly.

"Yes." The man's serious mood vanished, and he noticed his nice smile return. Maybe, the smile wasn't such a good thing. Alfred usually wasn't happy when the man smiled.

"Good," Britain said, pinching his cheek. He was quickly offered another biscuit. Alfred wondered where he kept them all. He took the biscuit, finding he actually liked the taste now. For the life of him, Alfred couldn't remember what he disliked about the taste in the first place.

"Now, let's go look for buried treasure,"Arthur said, gesturing to the vast and nearly empty beach.

"Why would anyone bury treasure?" Alfred asked. What a waste, they could use the treasure to trade for the stuff they actually needed. Would they even be able to find it later? Alfred never could.

"Erm- in order to keep it safe from thieves," Arthur answered, putting him down. Alfred frowned. The man didn't sound all that confident.

"Wouldn't it be easier for the thieves to dig up the treasure after the pirates left?" he asked, and instead of humoring him like he usually did, the man scowled.

"Do you want to play buried treasure or not?" he asked, and Alfred knew that tone. He should shut up.

"Okay," he agreed. The game sounded a lot more fun than the scary tongue cutting game.

_And, you wonder why I don't make sense sometimes. Really Arthur? Okay, okay, I'll get to the point. We went to the beach, and I started to understand how to pretend play. _

"Do we keep digging? There isn't going to be any treasure in the sand,"Alfred said, and Arthur nodded, handing him a seashell.

"Add that to the treasure pile, squirt," the man said, patting his head. Alfred stood there with the seashell in hand. He was way more excited about this than Alfred was. Still, if Arthur was having fun, he could humor him. Leaving the shell next to the pile, he had to admit that they were quite pretty to look at, and many of the tribes did use them for currency.

Alfred sat next to the man and watched curiously. This was the first time he was doing something other than sitting down and looking over paperwork or chasing after him. Well, except that one time with his mother, but Alfred didn't want to think about that. He hadn't done anything to her since then so maybe, he wouldn't again, but he was saying maybe an awful lot these days.

"Don't just sit there, dig and earn your keep," Arthur said, voice gruffer than usual. Strange, he didn't seem sick. So why would he sound like that? Alfred saluted like the man taught him.

"Aye, aye, captain," he said, picking a spot close by so he could still keep an eye on him. The man grinned, chucking another seashell in the pile. After some time digging up seashells, Alfred had developed a rhythm and stopped paying attention to the man. So, he was startled when Arthur tapped his shoulder.

"Hrm," he squeaked. The man chuckled and handed him some cooked fish.

"Take a break," he said, and Alfred ate, satisfied that the man hadn't burned it too badly. They didn't talk for a while which was just fine with Alfred. He didn't like a lot of the questions the man asked.

"So . . . was this better?" Arthur asked. Alfred stopped mid bite, not knowing how to answer. This wasn't the worst day he'd had. The last two times his mother had been significantly hurt topped it easily.

'Yes?" he said. The man took this as a sign to pick him up. Alfred kept eating his fish, as far as he was concerned whether he was on the sand or the man's lap made little difference.

"I know that I'm not always the best br-caretaker, but you do understand that I'm not a bad man right? " he asked, and Alfred didn't answer right away but eventually nodded. Most of the time, he could tell the man had good intentions. Yet, Alfred still had a nagging feeling that he was indulging the man more than he should.

"You liked the ship last time right?" Arthur asked, gazing far into the distance. He wondered why he was so concerned with the ocean. There wasn't anything but water there as far as he could tell. Yet, the man was clearly focused on something.

"Yeah, I did" Alfred said, leaving the fish bone on the sand. The sail made a good slide. He had told the man as much before. Was Britain going senile already?

"How would you feel about spending a lot more time there? " he asked, forgetting the ocean long enough to look him in the eye. Alfred did like the ship, and he'd barely explored it before Arthur dragged him away. Another trip would be great so long as the man didn't try to trap him there.

"I'd like that very much," he said, waiting for the man to take him to the ship or at least, that's why Alfred thought he would do. Britain didn't move, not saying anything for a long while.

"Alfred, would you mind not having much space to run around? You wouldn't be on land for a very long time," he asked, and Alfred scrambled off the man's lap. He did not want a repeat of the house incident.

"Yes, I don't want to be trapped inside again," Alfred said, waiting for the man to get angry again. He always got angry when he disagreed with him, but this time, the man only seemed taken back. This only lasted a second before Arthur sighed and stared making lines in the sand with his stick.

"So, I take it that being locked up in a room for a very long time would drive you crazy?" Arthur asked. Alfred nodded, lying would only get him onto the boat that much faster.

"Very well, I suppose I'll have to make other arrangements," Britain said, looking back at the ocean. Alfred frowned, not liking the man's vague response. Something about the man seemed off today, and he didn't want to be surprised by whatever the man had planned.

"What do you mean?" he asked, distracting Arthur. The man patted his back and stood.

"Don't worry about it. This isn't something for you to concern yourself with," he said, taking Alfred's hand.

"Okay, I guess," he said, picking up on the man's troubled mood. Arthur didn't want to talk about whatever was troubling him and asking would only get him yelled at.

"Now, we're going to take this treasure and go to Tortuga," Arthur said, picking up a handful of seashells. Alfred stared at him blankly. Where? He'd never hear any of the villagers or strangers mention such a town. The man noticed his confusion and pointed to some rocks.

"Over there by that rock, it's where we shall feast and be merry," he said. Oh, Arthur was seeing things again. Alfred picked up some seashells and followed Britain's lead. He was new to the whole make up stuff thing.

"How exactly do we feast and be merry without food, and why did we have to take the seashells?" he asked. Arthur spared him a glance.

"To pay the fine ladies for their services," he said, gesturing to some strangely weathered rocks. He could kind of see the resemblance, maybe. Alfred still wasn't sure what exactly Arthur expected him to do with the rocks.

"What services?"he asked. Britain opened and closed his mouth. He cleared his throat and appeared to blush. Oh, he was talking about sex.

"It occurs to me that may not be age appropriate for you. Let's just say, it's to pay for a room and to thank the ladies for serving us a fine dinner," he said, sitting down next to the two rocks. Alfred wasn't sure he wanted to play along. This was weird.

"What ladies?" he asked, even though he knew well enough that he was talking about the rocks.

"Ugh, the two over there," Arthur grumbled, gesturing to said rocks. Alfred thought so.

"You're seeing things that aren't there," he said. Arthur muttered some curses under his breath, before taking a good look at him. Alfred fidgeted under the scrutiny. He was right. But then, why was the man acting like he was wrong?

"It's kind of the point. Have you literally never done this before?" Arthur asked. He shook his head. The children preferred playing games that involved some sort of skill whether they were just running around or throwing spears. Then again, Alfred and the girls did play with dolls a lot.

"Imagine, we're indoors in a dimly lit room" Arthur said. Alfred looked around, not getting it. He didn't see anything.

"But, we're outside," he said. The man shook his head, a look of pity on his face.

"Forget it, I don't really think it's something that can be taught sadly. I suppose you'll grow up to be a dull boy indeed," Arthur said, getting up, and with that, playtime was over. Alfred frowned, unsure why he felt so disappointed. Playing shouldn't be so hard. He held up a stick. So, all he had to do was picture it as something else like they did with the sword fight earlier? He could do that. He didn't want play time to be over.

"Um, so this stick is supposed to be a sword," he said to the man who had started heading back to the house. He turned around and shrugged.

"It can be whatever you want it to be," he said, still not convinced. Alfred ran after the man and waving the stick in his face.

"I want it to be a sword," he said, really fast. The man stopped walking, indulging him.

"Okay then," Arthur said, holding up his own stick. Alfred tried to think of something else before the man lost interest again. Where did he say they where earlier?

"And, we're inside a house?" he asked, and the man corrected him.

"A bar."

"A what?" Alfred asked. He never realized that all the places in town weren't just places people lived. Maybe, the bar was something like the sweat lodge in the village. Arthur didn't answer right away, and when he did, he dodged the question again.

"Never mind, that's not quite age appropriate either, yes a house," he said, backtracking. Alfred let it go. At least, he was playing along.

"And, there are two girls bringing us some water," he said, pointing at the rocks off in the distance. They should probably go back there if this game was going to work. The man picked him up and headed that direction. He must have had the same idea.

"Sure, let's go with water," he said in a noncommittal fashion. Alfred doubted they were picturing the same thing.

"What else?" Alfred asked. He didn't really have his own ideas yet. The man grinned, setting him down on a rock.

"Well, I'm glad you asked. Those people over there are giving us dirty looks and plan to take the treasure," he said, pointing at some gnarly rocks in the distance. Alfred put his hands on his cheeks and yelled dramatically.

"Oh no!" Arthur put a hand on his hip and pointed the stick in the general direction of the offending rocks.

"Oh yes, we must ambush them before they have a chance to take us by surprise," Arthur said, whispering to Alfred.

"'Kay," he answered excitedly, surely, hitting a bunch of rocks could still be fun. Besides, no one would get hurt this way. The man ushered him behind some large rocks so they were properly hidden. He crouched down, holding his stick at the ready.

"Attack in one, two, three," he said, jumping from behind the rock and charging. Alfred followed, attacking the gnarled rocks as best he could without letting the stick snap in half. According to Arthur, they won although Alfred couldn't imagine how they would lose to a bunch of rocks. All the same, he claimed that they had offered to pay for their drinks for the night. Alfred didn't see the point of paying for water that they could get from the stream, but there was never a point in correcting the man so he nodded. Soon after, they had recruited a crew to sail with them, consisting of his bunny puppet, a smaller rock, and something in the air Arthur kept talking to. Alfred decided the man was insane, but it would be better to keep that to himself.

_Eventually, the sun started to set, and I felt more nervous about going back than I did about coming to Arthur's. _

"Remember, what you need to say?" Arthur said, hands firmly on Alfred's shoulders. He looked down and mumbled.

"I can't sleep. I want my own hut." Alfred didn't like lying to his mom, and this all seemed unnecessary. He spent lots of time with the man already so why did he need him to sleep in the house to? It seemed awfully inconvenient for them both.

"Good," Arthur said, patting his back. Before he saw him off, Alfred risked bringing up the hut. The request seemed strange to him. Why ask for something he would never use?

"Why do I need my own hut if I'm going to be sleeping in your house?" he asked.

"So, your mother doesn't notice you're gone at night," Arthur answered easily. Alfred had a bad feeling. What if he didn't like living with the man? His mother and the villagers wouldn't know so long as he kept showing up in the village during the day.

"But," he started to say when the man cut him off.

"Do you want your mother to worry? Are you that selfish?" he asked, and Alfred's heart sank. She would worry if she knew he was in the man's house, and worst of all, she would get hurt trying to get him out of it. So, he would deal with this on his own, living with the man wasn't hard so long as Alfred listened to him.

"No, I'll ask. I-I don't want her to worry," he said, and unsurprisingly, the smile returned.

"That's a good boy. Be ready to go in the morning," Arthur said, pinching his cheeks before getting up to leave.

"What if I want to stay longer?" Alfred asked, knowing he had left his mother by herself quite often. Wouldn't she miss him? Or was the man right and she was relieved to have him gone hours at a time?

"Some other time," Arthur said after a few seconds of consideration.

"But you said-" The man interrupted him.

"Alfred, are you really that desperate to bore your mother to death? She hasn't noticed your absence since you started coming with me, correct?" Arthur snapped at him. Alfred couldn't deny it as much as he wanted to.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"So, why would this be any different? I'm doing her a favor,"Arthur said. Alfred was tempted to mention it to his mother when he returned to the encampment, but he didn't want her to agree with the man if it was true.

"I guess," he said, looking down at his feet. The man made him look up.

"So, you'll meet me here in the morning?" he asked, and he knew the correct answer by now.

Yes Arthur," he muttered. The man started to leave but hesitated when he saw his miserable face. He should start learning to hide it better.

"And Alfred," he said. America looked up.

"What?" he asked.

"If get you something sweet, will that cheer you up?" Britain asked. America looked him straight in the eye and answered.

"Don't beat up France to get it." The man's eyes widened, and he stiffened. America had struck a nerve.

"How did you- ? Of course not," he said finally. Alfred waved and said the words that he hoped would finally make the man go away. He wasn't very happy with him right now.

"Bye."

"Good bye," Arthur said, and Alfred took this as a sign it was safe to run off. The man didn't follow.

When he made his way out of the forest and into the village, his mother was waiting. Alfred halted in his tracks. She hadn't been outside the hut in a very long time. He didn't think she ever would get out. Clearly, Alfred needed to keep the lie going so he tried not to look nervous as she stood there analyzing him.

"Where have you been? I have asked everyone. No one has seen you today," she said, and Alfred knew what he was being accused of, and she was right. That didn't mean he should tell her. She would just get hurt.

"In the forest," the answer was vague enough to give him some leeway. She sighed and took his hand.

" Remember, my strength is limited right now. I'm barely well enough to walk. Do not get into trouble that I cannot get you out of," she said. He nodded and mumbled.

"I'm not."

"Perhaps, tomorrow, I will go with you and see what you find so interesting in the forest," Ageni said, and Alfred lost his balance on a root. She couldn't. The man told him to meet him outside the forest. He didn't want the man angry at him.

"No, that's okay. You're not feeling well. I don't mind playing by myself," he said, knowing he said the words too quickly. His mother helped him up and dusted him off.

"I am touched you are concerned for my safety, but I will be fine. Unless, there is something you are not telling me?" she asked, and there it was, a chance to spill his guts. Alfred sighed, knowing what he had to do now. Mentioning the new hut was a cruel trick to pull, but it would distract her from her current line of thought.

"I want my own hut," he said. His mother frowned, tightening her grip on his hand. Just as he thought, Ageni did not take the news well. She dragged him into their hut and pushed him onto the mat.

"Why?" she asked, for the first time in a while sounding openly distressed. Alfred didn't look at her and turned around.

"I haven't been sleeping well. I've been sleeping in the forest during the day. That's why no one sees me," he said. Coming up with the lie was almost easy. This was no different from pretending.

"Oh, I see. Perhaps, it is time then," she said, laying down next to him but making no move to touch him. Alfred had lost that privilege. He might as well have told her that he didn't love her anymore.

"Is it because I'm sick?" she asked, and Alfred knew it was easier to agree with her than come up with another lie.

"Yes, you cough a lot at night," he said. His mother turned her back on him.

"I will talk to the elders about building the hut tomorrow. You don't mind being on your own again do you?" she asked. He almost turned around and hugged her and told her what all he'd gotten himself into, but he'd come this far.

"No, it's been a while since you could keep up with me," he admitted. She didn't say another word, but Alfred heard her sobs. Alfred curled into a ball on the mat, trying to ignore his mother's breakdown. He was sure it wouldn't be the last time he made her cry.

_I met up with Arthur the following morning without any trouble. The hut was made by the time I left, and my mother was avoiding me. So, I was more than happy to get away from my guilty conscience. _

Alfred made it to the usual meeting place, dragging his feet as he walked. There wasn't a reason to hurry up today. His mother wouldn't be keeping an eye on him. In fact, his mother was in tears the last time he had a good look at her. The man was there already, hands in his pockets, looking behind him for some reason. He tugged at the man's pant leg. Arthur looked down and smiled, the troubled smile. The man was nervous, and Alfred felt uneasy, not knowing why. Alfred had done as he was told so what reason did the man have to be worried?

"Hello there, here, have a brandy snap," he said, giving him a stick. When he didn't do anything with it, the man shoved it in his mouth.

"You eat it," he said tiredly. Alfred sucked on the treat happily. This tasted even better than the biscuits.

"Come along," he said, and Alfred didn't move. The man usually carried him.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, and Alfred lifted his hands. The man groaned and picked him up.

"Now, you like being carried, could have done without the nasty bite marks," he drawled. Alfred patted his cheek, and he was forgiven.

He didn't ask where they were going. He knew well enough that the man was going to take him to the house. Britain had secured America indefinitely so long as his mother remained withdrawn. When they arrived at the house, Arthur locked the door and sat Alfred down.

"Well then, I have a few things to take care of at home," he said, and America pointed to the house.

"No, this isn't my home. I'm from very far away, and I'll be gone a few months," he said, and Alfred started shaking. First, he upset his mother, and now, the man was leaving. The man hugged him, and Alfred buried his head in Arthur's shoulder.

"Don't get upset, I've hired a nanny to take care of you while I'm gone," he said, and Alfred looked up, confused. Couldn't he just stay with his mother until he came back?

"Can't I just stay home?" he asked. The man gave him another candy, and patted his head.

"You are home," he said. Something in Alfred snapped. Did Britain really expect him to live here like a trapped fly in a spider's web? No, he wasn't going to put up with the man anymore. He could clearly take care of himself.

"I live with my mom. You just keep taking me!" he shouted, and the man rolled his eyes.

"Is that so? Then, why did you come back willingly? I couldn't have taken on all the villagers if you decided to stay," he said, and America shut up. The man had a point. The thought hadn't occurred to him, and his mother had been so upset. He had wanted to get a way for a while.

"I-I-I thought you would-" Alfred trailed off. He couldn't think of anything. The man hadn't successfully kidnaped him for quite some time. He had left with Britain of his accord on multiple occasions.

"What?" he asked. Alfred didn't answer.

"That's what I thought," he said, handing him another candy. Alfred sucked on it and moped. He couldn't reach the keys to unlock the door on his own, but maybe, he could trick the girl into opening the door. No way, she would be as vigilant as Britain and he'd slipped past him multiple times.

"I know you're feeling apprehensive, but the girl is more than capable of feeding and dressing you," Arthur said. Alfred glared. That wasn't what was bothering him and the man knew it.

"Tell you what, we can play today, I'm not leaving till tomorrow," he said. Alfred hmphed and turned his back on the man.

"Alright then, how about a story?" he asked, and Alfred got off the chair and headed upstairs.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked. Alfred turned around and answered.

"Bed," he said. He could hear the man struggled for words. This made Alfred smile.

"But it's barely nine a.m.," Britain said, and America turned around again at the top of the stairs.

"I haven't been sleeping well," he said mockingly. He was sure he heard, what am I going to do with that boy? when he ran upstairs and slammed the door. Alfred wouldn't give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him this time. Arthur had gone too far.

The man didn't try to see him after that. He mostly heard him shuffling around downstairs, and when he did venture upstairs, he always walked past his door without so much as looking inside, not that he cared. He wanted the man to leave him alone. And yet, he wondered if the man was angry. No, he didn't care. Whether the man was angry or not, he didn't listen to him or consider his feelings. He'd spent the majority of his lifetime outside, and he'd announced his indefinite stay here like his imprisonment was nothing. Was the man really that thick?

The man only stopped by once, after the day had turned dark. He'd open the door and found Alfred sitting on the bed, staring at him. The man smiled, and Alfred didn't understand why. He was still mad at the man. He shouldn't be happy.

"Have you been waiting for me?" he asked. Alfred shook his head furiously. He hadn't spent all this time waiting. He- he- was thinking of how to escape. That's it. He hadn't expected the man to come after him right away. He didn't care. The man hugged him again, and Alfred relaxed when he realized the man wasn't angry. Arthur scooped him up so he was conveniently within reach. He held onto the man for dear life. Why did the man have to go? There wouldn't be a problem if he just stayed here.

" I know my leaving is hard on you, but I will be back," Arthur said and started to hum a melody. Alfred shook his head and tugged the man's collar. Arthur stopped humming.

"Yes?" he asked.

"But my mom-" he tried to explain, fearing his impending entrapment. His mother would be so worried if he didn't come back.

"Is tired and can't take care of herself, let alone you," he said, and Alfred nodded. Starting to believe it, his mother had taken a long time to wise up, and even then, she had backed down when he mentioned her sickness, maybe, a few months without him, would do her some good.

"Don't go," he said, latching onto his neck again. Arthur stroked his hair and hummed some more.

"Really, don't fret. I'll be back, but I will have to go from time to time so try and be a big boy while I'm away," he said, and Alfred nodded. He could do that. Britain and his mom hardly let him do anything on his own. Now that they would be out of the picture for a while, this might be the time to learn.

_This business with the nanny would have been fine and dandy for the most part if Britain had been a better judge of character. The nanny never showed up, and I was stuck inside of the house alone with no way to get out. Naturally, I cried my eyes out_ _again. _

Why? Why did the man keep lying to him? No one had showed up to feed him, and Alfred had to break one of the glass jars to get to the jam, cutting his hand in the process. By now, several hours had passed, and he just knew that no one was going to come open the door, and he would run out of cured fruit eventually.

Someone started breaking down the door. Alfred jumped and hid behind one of the chairs. Could it be France? He was the only person he ever had seen come visit. There was a lot of cursing, and he wondered if maybe the man had forgotten something. After a few minutes, whoever it was, seemed to give up, and Alfred curled up into a ball again and shut his eyes, but he couldn't sleep. What would he do for food later? He didn't really want to cut his hand again, opening another jar. Eventually, he fell asleep, dreaming of pie.

A hand shook him awake, Alfred looked up groggily. The nanny? She seemed too thin and delicate to have broken down the door. She scooped him up, and he was too upset to care. Then, he noticed a burly man, probably one of the strangers from town. They had heard him from all the way out there?

"I told you there was a child crying here," she said, rocking Alfred. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. She seemed nice.

"Yes Abigail, but I'm not sure about taking him. I've heard an important official lives here. We don't want to be accused of treason for unwittingly taking this child," the burly man said. She lifted Alfred's cut hand, making the man back off.

"We can at least treat his wounds and feed him. The poor thing was probably hungry and cut himself," the woman said, and the man begrudgingly agreed. The burly man went upstairs to look for something to clean and bandage the cut, and the woman started cooking him something to eat. Alfred sat on top the table and watched. They didn't seem to mind him sitting there. Arthur would have yelled at him for that and the broken jar.

"I'm Abigail. What's your name?" she asked when she noticed he was watching her. He wasn't sure what to say. America had a lot of names. He decided to go with the one Britain kept calling him.

"Alfred," he said. Yes, that sounded like the right thing to say. Abigail shook his non-injured hand. She put her hands on her knees and bent down to meet his eye.

"Tell me, why are you here all alone?" she asked, and Alfred fidgeted nervously. Arthur probably wouldn't want him to say.

"Come now, it's alright. We're neighbors," she said, and Alfred pouted, even the town people knew more words than he did.

"What's a neighbor?" he asked, catching the woman off guard. She'd splashed some hot water on her wrist. She put some water from the pump on her hand to relieve the burning sensation.

"Well, we live nearby and are part of the same town. So, as neighbors, we help each other out. You need help right?" she asked, and Alfred nodded.

"So, tell me what's the matter," she said, and Alfred had the impulse to listen to her. She was willing to go out of her way to help him out, just like the hunter had. Alfred frowned. He'd taken the hunter for granted. Maybe, he should give people another chance.

" Arthur left for England on business, and the nanny never showed up to take care of me," Alfred said. The women shook her head and patted his head.

"You've had a rough morning. The soup will be ready in a minute," she said as if that would make everything better. The burly man came downstairs with some bandages and solvent.

"Strange what he has up there," the burly man said, taking Alfred's hand and dipping it in the solvent. The woman stirred the soup and put her other hand on her hip.

"Oh, Andrew, you mustn't snoop," Abigail said. The burly man wrapped his hand. Alfred didn't see why. The cut had stopped bleeding a while ago. He'd put it in water like his mother taught him. He hadn't been able to find anything he needed beyond that.

" I spent a good half hour breaking down the door. When the man returns, me snooping will be the least of our problems," Andrew said, helping himself to some water from the pump.

"Now, now, we can always get Gregory to fix it," Abigail said. The man wiped his face with his hands and set the mug down hard.

"Bah, Gregory's so high and mighty since he left the house. Won't do a thing for his old man," Andrew huffed. Alfred patted his hand in condolence. Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"You think he understood all that" Andrew asked Abigail. Abigail served Alfred soup, and he dug in gladly.

"The boy likely realized you were upset and wanted to cheer you up," Abigail said, and Alfred ate without commenting. He knew that the people would treat him differently if they realized he was a spirit. America liked the attention he was getting this way.

"Looks smarter than that, he's watching us," Andrew said. Abigail giggled, and hit his shoulder lightly.

"He's a boy that misses his father that's all," Abigail said. Alfred shook his head. The woman looked at him questioningly.

"He's my brother," Alfred said. The woman frowned and touched his cheek.

"Oh dear, what happened to your father?" Abigail said. Alfred shrugged, slurping the soup. The people didn't seem to mind.

"Don't know, never had one," he said, causing the woman to cover her mouth with both hands.

"Andrew," she started to say.

"No, we are not getting involved," Andrew said, wiping his mouth with his arm.

"But, surely, we can at least look after him until his brother returns," Abigail said. Alfred nodded. He'd like that. Andrew scowled at him. He wondered if he was related to the man.

"I suppose we could, but he stays here. I will not be accused of kidnaping," Andrew said. Abigail clapped her hands together.

"Good, let's get you out of those soiled clothes,"she said. Alfred looked at his robe. There was only a little blood and dirt on it. He let her take him up stairs, strangely complacent. America didn't think they were trying to trick him.

After the woman dressed him, she took him back downstairs. Andrew hadn't moved and looked too big to be in such a small house. His blue eyes locked on him.

" Won't be long before he'll need real clothes. He's not really that much a babe," Andrew said. Abigail fixed Alfred's hair.

"Nonsense, he's three. He had a good two years left before he needs to wear britches," Abigail said, and Andrew rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't act three," Andrew said. Abigail waved the ladle around haphazardly and answered smartly.

"He can't open a jar so how is he supposed to button his britches?" she asked, and Andrew agreed reluctantly.

The people talked a while about what was going on in town. Alfred was content to listen although the door had been broken apart, and he was free to leave. He would when these people left. They might get concerned if they noticed him go off into the woods by himself. Abigail nudged him, and he looked up at her attentively.

"I'm going to go talk Gregory into fixing the door since my husband won't talk to him till he ends up in a grave," she said, and the burly man muttered something or other about, no good wife. Alfred froze. They couldn't fix the door. How else would he escape?

"Don't fix the door. I don't want to be stuck here by myself," Alfred said, grabbing a piece of her skirt before she could go. She smiled, and this seemed a very easy thing for Abigail to do.

"We can't really lock it once we put it back up, but I don't recommend sneaking off by yourself. The savages might get you," she said, snatching up pieces of his shirt playfully. Alfred put his hands behind his back and asked shyly.

"What are savages?" He'd never heard of them before. The man laughed and slapped his back. Ow.

"A very sheltered boy, no wonder his brother locked him up. He'd never survive out there. The red people, boy, surely you've seen them once or twice in town?" Andrew asked, and it clicked. Oh, Alfred knew who they were talking about.

"They wouldn't hurt me," he said, automatically. Alfred realized his mistake much too late. Alfred lowered his head to avoid the horrified stares. It seemed none of the strangers liked the villagers very much.

"You're right Abigail. We can't really keep him here, but maybe, we should make the effort to check up on him, once a day or so. Make sure he isn't taken by the reds as some passing fancy," Andrew reasoned, and Abigail nodded. Alfred pushed the soup away. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"I'll be back," Abigail said, going to get this Gregory person Alfred kept hearing about. So, he was stuck with the less friendly human, Andrew. When the burly man ignored him, Alfred thought of going upstairs to his room for a while until Abigail came back. Still, he had opened the door to help him.

"Hi," he said. The man acknowledged him with a nod. He wasn't sure what the strangers did most of the time. The only reference Alfred had was Arthur.

"Do you work on a bunch of paperwork too?" Alfred asked. The man laughed abruptly and slapped his back again. Ow, he had a feeling why Gregory hadn't stuck around, talking to Andrew hurt.

"Nah, I farm my land, and sell the extra bits for the stuff we can't grow," Andrew said. Alfred nodded so he kind of did the same stuff the male villagers did in the village. He didn't see why they didn't get along then.

"When are you going to come visit me again?" he asked. Alfred would be leaving for home, and he needed a time frame of when he should be back.

"Abigail will come in the mornings, and I'll check on you at night," Andrew answered Alfred let his head fall on the table. Looks like, he'd still have to come back often.

"You alright, there lad?" he asked. Alfred nodded. This wasn't the burly man's fault. He was just trying to look out for him.

They didn't speak much after that, and Abigail eventually came in with a taller younger looking version of Andrew. The brunet came in and lifted him up off the ground. Alfred hung limply used to being picked up randomly by now.

"So, this is the boy that's been bawling nonstop. I swear I could hear it from the pub," Gregory said. Andrew seemed stuffier now that his son was here.

"Why don't you go fix the door like you're supposed to," Andrew grumbled. Gregory winked at Alfred.

"Old men, am I right?" he asked. Alfred just stared at him. Usually, the older men were patient and nicer than the young ones who didn't know any better. This seemed to be the opposite with the strangers.

"He doesn't talk much does he?" Gregory asked. Abigail fixed her fair locks and shook her head.

"Alfred's just a bit shy. He'll warm up to you by the time you're done I think," Abigail said. Gregory nodded and put Alfred down. He picked up an axe, and Alfred's eyes widened. He knew where this was going.

"No," he said, latching onto his leg. Gregory looked down, confused.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked. Abigail pried him away from Gregory.

"I don't know. We haven't known the little darling for long," Abigail said. Her emerald eyes looked him over with concern. Alfred continued to squirm, finding it easy to get away from her compared to Arthur. Gregory was about to chop down a tree when Alfred tackled him down.

"No," he said, pointing to the tree. The young man blinked, still shocked Alfred had managed that.

"I don't think he wants me to cut down the tree," Gregory said. Andrew stomped over and picked Alfred up. Abigail followed close behind.

"We'll keep him out of your way. You fix up the door," Andrew said. Gregory nodded. Alfred winced when he heard the young man start to hack away at the tree. He wasn't thrilled, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Andrew was much stronger than Abigail, and Alfred didn't honestly want to bite him to get away. He didn't deserve that yet.

Gregory came back with a finished door while Abigail tried her best to distract Alfred with play time. She played a lot differently than Arthur. She played dolls like the young village girls at home. He wondered why they didn't get along either. Humans were weird. He fitted the new door back in place, remarkably similar to the old one. The man probably wouldn't notice the difference.

"Alright dear, we're going to go now, but we'll be back tomorrow sometime," she said, and Alfred fixed his gaze on Andrew feeling lied to.

"He said you'd come in the morning and he'd come at night," Alfred said, pointing at Andrew. Gregory laughed and said.

"Worried about him, old man?" Andrew crossed his arms and muttered.

"He's three. It's not right to leave him on his own for so long." Abigail bit her lip and rubbed her arm.

"Visiting that much does seem a little excessive. Perhaps, we should try to find someone who could look after him until we find this missing nanny?" she asked, and Gregory raised his hand.

"No, you're busy with your new business. Besides, you should be finding a girl to have a child with, not baby sitting some forgotten pipsqueak," Andrew said. Alfred's eyes darted to each of them unhappily. He couldn't have them stop by too often if he was going to return home. Gregory put an arm on Alfred's shoulder.

"I'm a carpenter. I can set up shop here until the lad's caretaker comes back, but if you really want to visit you still can you know," Gregory said. Andrew punched him in the shoulder.

"Fine, but remember, he's an official's delicate kid don't go around teaching him your bad habits," Andrew said. Gregory saluted and answered.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Abigail stayed with Alfred while Gregory and Andrew moved a bunch of strange contraptions into the house. They didn't let him touch any of it, and he wondered if he should be concerned. All he knew was he wouldn't be left unsupervised so he'd have to be sneaky when he did go back home. Nightfall hit and both Abigail and Andrew left for their own homes, Gregory did not. Alfred frowned and poked him with a left over stick.

"Go home," he said. Gregory laughed and took the stick from him.

"What do you think this will do," he said. Alfred sighed.

"Not much,"he admitted. Alfred wasn't going to be able to kick him out, well, not without being mean about it.

"You speak pretty well for a three year old. I guess it's because you're from a wealthy family," Gregory said, eyeing the stick thoughtfully.

"How would you like a toy sword?" he asked, and Alfred cheered up considerably.

"Okay," he said, holding up his hands eagerly. Gregory tsked him.

"I won't be able to do it if you don't let me stay. It'd be too much of a hassle packing and going back and then, making the sword to give to you," he said. Alfred thought it over. So, he would have a visitor for a few months. Gregory was young and likely wouldn't care if he snuck away for a few hours a day to visit his mom.

"Fine," he said.

"Great, let's get you to bed" Gregory said, picking him up.

"Can you tell me a story that isn't scary or disturbing?" he asked. Gregory raised an eyebrow.

"Sure, I guess. Do you hear a lot of those?" he asked. Alfred nodded. Gregory put him to bed and told him some story about the man on the moon. It sounded like a fun place to be.

_So, as you can probably tell, this is around the time I started liking people. The beginning of the end for Britain and I really, even though our story was just getting started. Eventually, I started trusting them a lot more than I trusted him. _

Alfred rather liked Gregory now. At first, he found him kind of annoying, especially when he caught him sneaking off into the woods. But in the last few months, he'd introduced him to a lot of people, and well, people were a lot more interesting than he expected. They were all horribly flawed of course, but so was he. They taught him a lot of new things like words Gregory told him not to repeat in front of Arthur and fun things like dancing for no real reason or whistling. He especially liked to whistle random tunes he heard.

Generally, Gregory having no idea what he was doing was a huge plus. Sure, he cooked worse than Arthur, but Alfred found a nice balance between sneaking away to see his mother and hanging out with the people in town, particularly his new friends Abigail, Andrew and Gregory. The young man was easier to play with too. They had sword fights, and he fought like Arthur had taught him. Gregory didn't get frustrated as easily as Arthur, and Alfred had yet to see him be really angry at him. The only downside was he did expect him to work, but after a while of resisting, he got used to doing chores and helping out with miscellaneous errands while Gregory made things out of wood. Alfred still liked trees the way they were, but he was starting to see the appeal of cutting them up. They turned into interesting things when cut up the right way.

So, Alfred was quite content until . . . Arthur came back. The whole place was a mess, and Arthur had Gregory tied up on the floor. Arthur never took his eyes off of him. He'd been away for the majority of the day and hadn't come back till close to nightfall. Alfred gulped. He knew perfectly well where Alfred had been.

"Welcome back," he said. Arthur didn't say a word and pointed to Gregory who was struggling to break out of the ropes.

"That's Gregory. He's the carpenter that's been taking care of me," Alfred said, trying his best to keep smiling. The situation wasn't looking to good for him or Gregory.

"Yes, but that is not your nanny" Arthur said calmly, too calmly. He was sure the man would explode any minute.

"She never showed up. I cut my hand and some nice people showed up an helped me. Gregory isn't bad," Alfred whined, and Arthur spared Gregory a glance.

"Then, why did he for all intents in purposes break into my house," Arthur said, challenging him. Well, Alfred wasn't going to back down this time.

"You left me locked inside. He cooked food for me, and trust me, he's not good at it," Alfred shouted. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Alfred fidgeted. He must not have expected him to yell. Arthur signaled for him to sit in a nearby chair. Alfred obeyed, waiting for Arthur to reach a verdict.

Arthur inspected the surrounding area. In the living room, he noticed hand carved toys with Alfred's initials inscribed on them. Picking them up, he turned them over a few times before leaving them where he found them. In the kitchen, he noticed a boiling pot of foul smelling herbs. He put out the fire and discarded the contents. Finally, he walked over to where he last left Gregory and examined his face. After some deliberation, Arthur released Gregory from his restraints.

"Get out of my house, I will have people drop off your things. I will let you know if you are ever allowed to come back, understand?" Arthur said. Gregory nodded, running off in a hurry but not be for wishing Alfred luck. he nodded, knowing he was going to need it.

"So, you had an eventful few months," Arthur said, not directly questioning him, but he obviously wanted Alfred to tell him what happened anyway.

"Yeah, Abigail started teaching me to read," Alfred said. Surely, he would appreciate that and leave them alone. Arthur raised an eyebrow again.

"Abigail?"

"Yeah, she and Andrew came by and helped me when I cut my hand. That was their son," Alfred explained. Arthur tapped his fingers on the desk.

"I see, did you like these people?" he asked, and Alfred nodded.

"Very well, I suppose this wasn't a complete disaster then. Did he make these for you?" he asked holding up a pair of wooden swords. Alfred nodded again. The less words he said right now the better.

"Then, I won't be pressing charges. I'll be sure to be more thorough next time I pick a nanny for you," Arthur said. Alfred raised his hand. Arthur gave him the go ahead to speak.

"Can you hire Abigail next time your away?" he asked. The man seemed unsettled by the question.

"I supposed if she agrees that would be fine. You seemed to have learned some new words while I was away," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Alfred said. Arthur sat down on one of the chairs. He turned around and inspected them, likely noticing they weren't the same chairs he had brought.

"He's not a bad carpenter. Maybe, I'll have him make more things for me," Arthur said. He noticed Alfred on the table. Instead of yelling, he lifted him up.

"Did you miss me at all?" he asked.

"Yes, apparently, France lied. You're not the worse cook ever. Gregory is way worse," Alfred said. Britain narrowed his eyes.

"France stopped by?" he asked. Alfred squirmed, wishing he hadn't brought it up. Francis told him not to.

"A couple of times," Alfred admitted. The man didn't react past holding him possessively.

"I see. Please be more careful about who you let into the house," Arthur said, trying very hard not to yell if his voice was anything to go by.

"But, you're not going to go a way for a long time right?" Alfred asked. This was more of what Arthur actually wanted to hear.

"No, things have settled down for now," Arthur said. Alfred was fussed over quite a bit after that. He was petted, overfed, and soothed until America didn't want to move out of his lap. He wasn't sure what made the man overly affectionate all of a sudden. Then, he received the answer in the form of a question. He found the fact he even had to ask quite sad.

"Did you like those new people better than me? You didn't seem very excited when I came back," Arthur asked. Alfred eyed him lazily.

"You looked angry and had a man tied up in the kitchen. I think fear is a valid feeling to have after that" he mouthed off as he had seen Gregory do to his father. The man didn't scowl at him as he expected and seemed to realize his mistake.

"I could have handled that a bit better I suppose. You didn't run off to the village did you?" Arthur asked, and Alfred decided lying was the best route to go on this one.

"No, they kept an eye on me, and I couldn't," he said, making sure to sound upset.

"Ah, good," he said. Alfred yawned and nestled further into Arthur's lap. Looks like, he wouldn't be able to go home tomorrow. Then again, he felt perfectly comfortable staying at Arthur's for the night. And while Gregory's stories were fanciful and interesting, he missed the man's scary stories. Besides, his mother had stopped checking on him at night a month ago. He wouldn't be missed.

_Eh, wow, I'm surprised we haven't hit daylight yet, or do you not have that Canada? Oh, don't give me that nasty look. Anyway, this ended the tug of war between my mother and Britain for me or more accurately, this was the point where Britain started to win. My mother wasn't out of the running yet at this point. I'll be skipping ahead a few years to when I first became a brat, and I had honestly forgotten Ageni was mother in the first place. _

_**So, last time, I changed one of the genres from humor to drama. This is because the story was extended from a comedy skit but has strayed away from that some although there are plenty of nutty parts throughout. Next time we see a bit of young Canada, hurray time skip. **_


	9. The Reunion

The Reunion

America had forgotten? No, it couldn't be. How could he possibly remember her now if that were the case? Maybe, Canada was tired. America could have told him that he was a moon child sent to learn humanities ways, and it would have made more sense than what he just told him.

"Then, how-"

"Do I know all this happened? We have a collective memory. Technically, the memory was lost, not forgotten," America said, looking positively drained. Arthur didn't seem to be fairing any better. Kumajiro had conked out half and hour ago. He yawned, sure that he probably had bags under his eyes too.

"It's common for sudden changes in culture and population to trigger short term memory loss," England said, absently hugging a pillow to stay upright. America smiled grimly.

"You would know."

England frowned. Whether America meant to reference England's bloody past or indirectly accuse him of knowing what would happen, Canada didn't know. Either way, England chose to acknowledge it.

"I suppose so."

The interaction was surprisingly civil considering the hour. America broke eye contact first and turned to Canada.

"Okay, are we good?"

Canada at some point had dragged Kuma off Alfred's lap and hugged him close. Matthew only noticed after the bear whined for squeezing him too tightly. He loosened his grip.

"But, that has never happened to me."

"Because you're Canada, nothing bad ever happens to you," America said, shrugging.

Matthew rolled his eyes. He was sure if America had a choice between saving him and his cat, America would choose the cat simply because he had faith Canada would safely float down the river unscathed.

"I wouldn't say that."

Before America could argue, England hit America with his broken umbrella, effectively shutting him up. Unfortunately, America also managed to get control of the thing and toss the umbrella behind him, breaking some unknown object in the kitchen. He probably didn't need it anyway.

"Forgive me for breaking up the idle chit chat, but I still have delusions of getting some sleep tonight," England said, rubbing his forehead and probably desperately wishing for caffeine of some sort. Canada would make coffee if he trusted either party to stay awake long enough to appreciated the caffeine. Besides, they could suck it up for another hour or however long America needed to tell the story. They had stayed up this long.

_Fine, your majesty, if you need your beauty sleep that badly, I'll make it quick. In the next couple of decades, Britain had slowly but surely secured my loyalty._ _However, he hadn't quite managed to make me all that obedient. _

America didn't like the new kid. He was always squinting like he couldn't see what was right in front of him. When he tried to talk to him, Canada would either run away or talk gibberish, excuma this and excuma that, whatever that meant. Why did he have to run away anyway? They had the same face. They were the same height. They were practically the same person, except for the stupid gibberish and evil polar bear. Alfred kept telling Arthur that it was trying to eat him, but he never believed him. Apparently, he thought he was exaggerating because of that one time he thought Canada was a ghost after his soul. They looked exactly alike. What was he supposed to think? People were supposed to look different or at least, he had thought so until a few days ago.

The new kid ruined everything. Arthur spent most of his time with him now saying the same thing over and over again. You don't have a papa anymore, you live here now, and for the love of God, stop calling me, Angleterre. Then, Matthew would cry and cry, and cry some more. After a while, Alfred stopped feeling sorry for him and just wanted to put a pillow over his face until he stopped crying. When he told Arthur, he put him in a separate room like he was the problem. It was all the stupid new kid's fault Arthur didn't want him anymore.

Arthur came downstairs wearing his really fancy clothes. He was probably going to pick up supplies in town again. Bleh, he would probably take Matthew again because he was quiet and followed instructions. Then, Alfred noticed why Arthur hadn't left yet. Arthur was still barefoot. Alfred grinned. He knew exactly how to solve the Canada problem.

"For the last time, where did you leave my shoe?" Britain yelled, poking and prodding him with his remaining shoe. Alfred gulped. He had expected him to blame Matthew right away.

"I didn't take it." If he kept saying it, eventually, even he would believe it. This wasn't his first offense, and he knew Britain would give him the benefit of the doubt if he kept denying it. Arthur still considered him a good boy for some reason.

"The shoe didn't just up and disappear," Britain said, sounding almost desperate. Oops, the old man probably thinks he's going crazy. Alfred didn't want him to start talking to himself again. Then, the plan worked better than expected. Matthew had come to check out what all the yelling was about, noticed the shoe under the dresser, and pulled it out. The only thing Britain noticed when he turned around was that Canada had the shoe he was looking for.

_ Poor practically invisible Canada tended to get the blame for whatever I did. _

"So, you're the one that took my shoe, Canada, and here I was blaming America for your petty thievery."

"But, I found it,"Canada stammered. America gaped. He could talk all normal like?

"You expect me to believe that I searched every inch of this cabin, and you just happen to find them?" Britain asked, this time poking and prodding Canada.

"Yes," he said, trembling and all together, making himself look guilty. America smirked quietly observing the show. The new kid was new to the whole interrogation thing, and he was going to pay for his inexperience.

"Why should I?" Arthur asked. Canada looked at America's smug expression and frowned. He took a deep breath and answered loud and clear.

"I'm the good one."

Alfred shook his head, blaming him wasn't going to help him one bit. Arthur scowled, sure of Canada's guilt now because in his mind America was the good one. Alfred still wasn't sure why. All he ever did was stay in the house with Arthur or visit the people in town in between mischief. Maybe, Matthew couldn't speak that well yet, but he never did anything bad.

"You insolent little brat, we don't point fingers in this household" Arthur said, taking his shoe and pushing Canada to the corner.

"But Alfred," Matthew stuttered and struggled to break free, close to tears. Arthur payed him no mind

"To the corner with you," Arthur said, giving him one final shove. Unlike Alfred, he stayed put when they reached the corner. Also, unlike Alfred, he took the punishment very seriously and continued to sob uncontrollably even when Arthur told him to stop. With all of Canada's sniffling and shaking, America started to feel bad. Maybe, this wasn't the best way to get rid of the new kid.

"Actually, I," Alfred started to say, before Arthur cut him off.

"Don't worry about it. He's lashing out because I took him away from France," Britain said, patting his back.

"But-"

"Bloody hell, where did the other shoe go?" Arthur yelled. America shrugged. He'd forgotten where he put it.

_ Huh? Why don't you remember any of this, Canada? See. You did repress some stuff. Anyway, I decided to make it up to you since Britain wouldn't let me confess properly. _

America was having trouble finding the weird kid with the polar pear. After Britain let him leave the corner, Canada had kind of disappeared, and now, America felt like he was being watched. Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned around, nothing. Freaked out now, America started running. The invisible force tackled him down, and he shrieked. He shut his eyes and refused to open them until a paw smacked his face. What he saw when he opened them again did not make him feel any better, Canada had him pinned, and the scary polar bear had his paw ready to smack him again.

"You're mean. You framed me," Matthew said. Alfred eyed the bear nervously. He didn't want to get smacked again so he might as well get the apology over with.

"I'm sorry. I tried to confess later, but he thought I was trying to be noble and take the blame or something like that," he said. Matthew sighed and let him go.

"Of course, he didn't believe you. He doesn't like me very much," he mumbled, picking up his polar bear. Alfred looked down at his shoe. Ah geez, the apology was supposed to make him feel better not worse.

"Don't say that. He likes you because you're quiet and listen and stuff," he said. Matthew shook his head not believing a word of it.

"He mostly yells at me, but he is nice to you even when you misbehave," Matthew said. Oh, Alfred hadn't thought of it that way. Alfred had been so focused on all the attention Matthew was getting. He hadn't considered the fact that Canada was mostly getting yelled at and scolded, and Alfred had made it worse by getting him in trouble, oops.

"That's just the way he is. At least, you get to spend time with him," Alfred countered. It couldn't of all been bad. Matthew frowned.

"Is that why you got me in trouble?" he asked.

"Yeah," Alfred admitted.

"Your plan didn't really work did it? Arthur is not spending time with either of us," Matthew pointed out.

Alfred looked around and finally noticed that there was no sign of Arthur downstairs or upstairs. He pouted. Arthur had gone to the store without them. They were all alone. Then, it hit him. They were all alone. Alfred knew how to make it up to Matthew now. He grabbed Matthew's hand and led the way.

"Where are we going?" Matthew asked. Alfred pointed to the window.

"Outside, I know a lady that will get us out, " he said, letting go of Matthew's hand so he could retrieve a chair from the kitchen.

"But that will get us both in trouble with Arthur" Matthew reasoned. Alfred pushed the chair all the way to the window and climbed onto the window ledge.

"So, what you're saying is, you don't like outside?" Alfred asked. He could always get him a biscuit from the jar instead to make it up to him. There was no point going out when it was risky if Canada didn't want to go.

"I like outside. It's a little warmer here than I'm used to but - hey, wasn't the window nailed shut before?" Canada asked when he managed to open the window easily. America grinned. So, he had tried to escape before.

"Told ya, I know a lady," he said, slipping out the window. Canada followed, hastily shutting the window behind him.

"Now what? We can't go very far or we'll get caught for sure," Canada said. America stopped and shot him a look. Yeah, the new kid definitely was new to breaking the rules.

"We have a ride. There's no need to panic. I've done this before you know," America said, whistling for one of his bunnies to come. Three came running, and he had to send two back. He told the third to find the lady and tell her he was outside.

"Without getting caught?" Canada asked, eyes darting every which way as if he expected Arthur to come out of the bushes. America patted his back.

"Relax, the last time he caught me was three years ago when there was a sudden storm that slowed us down. Britain still doesn't know where I ended up exactly, never told him," America said, neglecting to add that he had been punished severely for keeping quiet. He hadn't been able to go outside for a month, and Britain had burned his favorite hat.

"Okay but when is this lady supposed to show up? We have no idea when Arthur will be back," Canada asked. America stared at the bushes and waited patiently. She would come because he asked, simple as that. The new kid wasn't holding up so well. He would glance back at the cabin ever so often and fidget. America sighed. The big baby wanted to run back home.

"Trust me, I'm sure since neither of us went with him that he'll enjoy some lady's company for a couple hours," Alfred said, hoping he wouldn't ask any follow up questions. Judging from Britain's reaction when he apologized for interrupting that one time, he wasn't supposed to know about that sort of thing yet. At first, Canada didn't get what he was referring to but a few seconds later his face lit up in recognition.

"Oh, like France," he said. America made a face. He didn't really want to know how Canada knew that, and if Matthew's face was anything to go by, Canada didn't want to know how he was privy to that information either.

"Let's make a promise never to end up as dirty as them."

"Yeah, I don't want to get slapped every day."

_And, we never did . . . Well, I'm sorry you didn't think it was important that we didn't end up perverts like the two of you, England, but this is my story, and I think it's worth mentioning. _

"Hey, she's almost here. Let's go meet her," Alfred said, picking up the pace. Matthew lagged behind. Alfred slowed down so he wouldn't lose track of the new kid. He could only imagine what sort of punishment Britain would have in store for him if he lost an entire person. Besides, Matthew was lugging that big fat polar bear around too so Alfred could cut him a little slack.

"How did you know that?" he asked, sounding completely amazed. Normally, Alfred would have silently relished Canada's admiration, but he couldn't believe that Matthew didn't know that little trick, no wonder he had been captured twice.

"You need to listen closely, or you won't hear it. Haven't you ever hunted before?" he asked. Alfred needed to know if he was simply ignorant or a touch slow when it came to basic survival tactics. Canada blushed and looked down at his feet.

"Well, no, someone usually feeds me."

Alfred slapped his forehead. Of course, he didn't know what he was doing. He was raised by France for Pete sake. Then again, Canada had lived on his own for a while. Maybe, Alfred wasn't giving him enough credit.

" Who fed you when you were alone?" he asked.

"The polar bear, " Canada said, holding up Kumajiro proudly. Alfred, on the other hand, wanted to bang his head against a tree. They were going to get caught. Matthew would probably get scared and run straight into Britain's arms and let him take the blame for the whole trip.

"That's pathetic. I'll teach you how later," he said, opting to drag Canada forward by the scruff of his shirt. Canada let himself be dragged and looked up America curiously.

"So, you're not going to try to get rid of me any more?" he asked. America stopped in his tracks and thought about it. Technically, protecting Canada wasn't in his best interest. He wanted Arthur for himself. So, he could tell him stories and spend his time playing with him. However, he easily found a reason to let Canada stick around. As much as he wanted Britain to play with him all the time, he wouldn't, and who better to play with than someone who looked just like him? He could already think of a couple of cons they could pull if he could get Canada to play along.

"Meh, the bear would eat me," he said instead. No need to let Canada know that he wanted him around, for one thing, he might start thinking America needed him around, and he didn't. He was used to playing by himself by now.

"So, why couldn't we wait in the safe open field instead of the dark disturbing forest," Canada said, breaking free of America's grip and slowly edging away from the deep forest. America rolled his eyes, looked liked it was up to him to set Canada straight.

"Come on Canada, I know you're not afraid of a bunch of trees. Besides, Arthur isn't the only one who keeps an eye on me. It would look bad if someone spotted her," Alfred said, pulling Matthew by the arm. Again, he let himself be dragged further into the forest. He surveyed the area with great apprehension and just about any little cricket chirp, made him jump or hug America for dear life. Alfred ended up carrying him bridal style through the forest.

"Why? Isn't she from . . . town," he asked. Alfred smiled and tried his best to look nonchalant, knowing Matthew would probably freak out in a minute. Truthfully, he was kind of nervous too. Alfred had never tried to bring a someone else with him when he visited Ageni.

"Nope."

"America, why didn't you say something before? This is dangerous."

Just as he though, Canada's arms tightened around his neck.

"She wouldn't hurt me." America couldn't really say the same thing about Canada right now. He coughed, and Canada got the message and tried to relax and loosen his grip on America's neck.

"How do you know that?" he asked. Alfred didn't know how to answer that. The feeling in his gut told him that she was all right, and so far, she had proven herself trustworthy.

"Ageni is my friend," he said simply. She'd saved his neck plenty of times, and he wasn't even counting the times she'd saved him from Arthur's cooking. He had no reason to doubt her. So, he wasn't going to let the worry wart change his mind.

"But-"

"Quit being such a baby," Alfred said. Matthew paled as he considered the fact Alfred had been carrying him the whole time. He got off of Alfred and dusted himself off. America had dragged him around the floor for quite a while so plenty of dirt fell off him.

"I'm not a baby," he huffed. America smirked and said nothing. He punched Canada on the shoulder. It sent him reeling.

"Of course you are, you're my baby brother," America said, purposely walking away without seeing his reaction. Canada quickly latched onto his arm.

"Oh, okay," he said. Canada wasn't spooked by anything else after that.

Ageni wasn't the type to display much emotion. She wasn't like Arthur who purposely hid them and inevitably showed both extremes whenever it struck his fancy. She was like a still pond. When the pond was disturbed, the ripples of emotion only lasted a second. So, you really had to pay attention to know what she was feeling. So, he was surprised when she flew right past him and picked up Canada.

America watched as Ageni embraced Canada and completely ignored him. America narrowed his eyes and wondered why he never received such tender affection from this woman who was as much his mentor and guardian as Britain was. Matthew hung limply in her arms, oblivious to what a special event it truly was. Alfred didn't like the new kid. He tended to get all the attention Alfred wanted.

"Pahana?" she said questioningly, raising Canada in the air.

"Huh? No, this is Matthew," Alfred said, pointing to Matthew. Ageni nodded and proceeded to cradle Matthew in her arms. He wrapped his arms around her neck and didn't say a word. Alfred scowled. Apparently, he didn't mind being babied all that much.

For a while, she simply held him and for a while, Alfred stood there, feeling robbed even if she had never shown him an ounce of the same affection. Eventually, Ageni crouched down to meet America's eyes.

"Hello Alfred, I've missed you. " He beamed, glad to be acknowledged.

"I missed you too." He hadn't really. When he didn't have the opportunity to wander around on his own, she often slipped his mind. He said it because it was the polite thing to say, and how Arthur taught him to respond.

Ageni put Matthew down and started coughing profusely, enough to hack up blood. Matthew's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth. Alfred remained un-phased. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her have a coughing fit. He figured if the excessive coughing hadn't killed her in the last couple of decades, it wasn't going to kill her now. Again, Alfred waited for her to recover because it was the polite thing to do.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded, wiping her mouth.

"You're both here," she said. Alfred looked over at Matthew who had succumb to shock.

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked. He wouldn't mind ditching Canada at this point.

"No, this is perfect. I'll go get the horse,"she said, embracing both and briefly pecking them on the cheek. Alfred froze, unsure what to make of it. Finally, his mind registered what she said.

He shook his head. They shouldn't ride far today. They were already dirty, and Canada had specks of blood on his shirt. It would take time to clean themselves up, and they had already spent a good half hour with Ageni, watching her cough up blood.

"Actually, we don't know when Arthur will return. I think it would be better if we didn't go far today," he said, and for once, Ageni didn't nod in agreement. She was usually the more cautious of the two of them when it came to hiding their outings from Arthur. Instead, she picked him up and practically crushed him against her ribs. Alfred started tearing up for reasons beyond him. This was what he wanted, but the close contact made his heart heavy.

"We're not coming back," she whispered. He could have easily accepted it, trapped in a comforting embrace, head cradled and torso wrapped firmly under her other arm. Fear gripped him, fueled by Arthur's many cautionary tales.

Perhaps, on the surface, this seemed like a good idea, but Ageni couldn't take care of him. She could barely take care of herself. There was a bed and a warm bath waiting for him when he came home and people who expected him to be there in the morning. Abigail was going to bake muffins. Andrew would tell him what all was happening in town, well the kid version. Gregory would take him to work, and Alfred would sometimes get a toy for being a good helper. Would he miss those people at all? And Arthur, cranky old Arthur that yelled at him for no-good reason, would he regret leaving him all alone?

"Um, Ageni I can't just leave. I live here," he said. She was just someone he visited in his spare time. He couldn't leave them. They were his family. Ageni held him even more tightly.

"Yes, you can."

The tears started to spill. She wasn't going to let him go. Why? Why wouldn't she let go? Why had he wanted her to want him so badly? Alfred couldn't leave Arthur. He would worry or worse, he would fall into unimaginable rage.

"Ageni, I can't. Arthur will get mad." Arthur only wanted to protect him. He shouldn't go anywhere without Arthur. Bad things would happen if he left.

"Don't you want to be free?" she asked. He could hear his heart quicken, the forbidden word, the elusive thing he chased every day. When he caused mischief, America liked that he might get caught. When he ran into the forest, he felt a rush of pure exhilaration because there was nothing fencing him in. When he made Arthur worry, Alfred wanted him to know that he couldn't control him - not completely.

"Free?" Is that what he wanted?

"I'm going to go," Matthew said quietly, deciding to escape by going the wrong way - idiot.

"You're coming too," Ageni said, putting Alfred down to get Matthew. She had trouble getting him off. Alfred didn't want to let go. He was torn, and all he was sure about was that he didn't want the warm feeling to end. Finally, Ageni settled for freeing her hands and letting him hold onto her neck. She followed Canada who didn't make much progress getting away from her. He wasn't very fast. This only served to freak him out more. Matthew tripped and turned to face her.

"You don't even know me. Why?" he asked, eyes watering for completely different reasons than his own. Kumajiro grabbed a fistful of his pant leg with his teeth and brought him back to Ageni. Matthew whimpered and let himself fall to the ground in defeat.

"Hi, old timer, I thought you were dead," Kumajiro said, licking his paw and looking up at Ageni. She laughed softly.

"No, not yet," she said. Matthew gaped, looking at Ageni one second and Kumajiro the next.

"The bear - the bear knows you. Why does the bear know you?" he said, pointing to the bear and her repeatedly as if that would help him figure out what was going on. Ageni patted the bear.

"I charged him with your care, not that he did a very good job," she said, flicking his nose. His ears twitched and he covered his nose defensively.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault he sought love and attention elsewhere."

" I don't understand," Canada said, looking at her dumbly. He didn't blame him this time. Alfred didn't really understand what was going on either.

"So, you've forgotten me as well,"Ageni said with a sigh, gently caressing his face before securing him with both hands. Canada didn't struggle, puzzled by her words. Alfred would think so. He hadn't met her before today.

"Ageni, what's going on?" Alfred asked when she secured him as well. He didn't want to be restricted if he could help it.

"We're leaving" she said simply. Alfred shook his head. This wasn't right. He realized that now. Even if some part of him enjoyed the rush, there was no place he felt more at home than in the cabin with Britain.

"I can't. I belong here. I don't look like you," he said, and just like that, she dropped him. The resulting painful thud, jarred him. Ageni had let him fall. She didn't want him anymore.

After letting him fall callously to the ground, she carefully put down Canada and sat down by a nearby tree. Maybe, he would have yelled about how unfair that was, but he realized that something far worse was happening right before his eyes.

"Ageni? What's the matter?"he asked, the hunched figure. America couldn't see her obscured face. He shook her and felt the tremor of her sobs. She would not raise her head. Canada tapped his shoulder. He took deep breath and faced Canada.

"What?"

"You made her cry."

"It's true. Why would she cry about that?" Alfred asked, continuing to shake her. Ageni never cried. She barely ever smiled. How could he have broken her so easily?

Needless to say, after keeping still so long, she startled him by grabbing hold of his shoulders and looking him right in the eye. Her eyes were mesmerizing, and he calmed down after a second or two of looking into them.

"Ay- Alfred, I want you to think really hard about what you want. You don't like being cooped up in that place do you?" she asked.

"No, but Arthur-"

"Keeps you locked up. I won't do that to you. So, I'm giving you and your brother a choice," she said, stroking his hair. Alfred nodded eagerly. He didn't want her to burst into tears again. She turned to Canada, and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

"You can choose to stay and continue living under that man's roof, or I can take you with me. If you choose to come with me, I will teach you everything I know," Ageni said, releasing a shaky breath. She hadn't quite recovered from her crying fit.

"You teach me stuff anyway," Alfred said, settling onto her lap. Canada sat close by with his polar bear. She sighed and lifted Alfred up.

"Once I leave, I won't be coming back. I've been ignoring the changes you've gone through for far too long. You are not my son," she said, putting him down. Alfred shrugged.

"We don't look the same. Of course, you're not my mother," he said, wondering why she flinched when he said it. It was the truth.

"Will you be staying then?" she asked, voice still fragile from her recent plethora of emotion. And, it took Alfred this long to realize she was serious about leaving permanently. He had hoped she was bluffing. He confiscated one of her arms. Canada took the other. She tried to stand but fell back down when they pulled. She couldn't move. They had her trapped.

"Why do you have to leave?" he asked.

"Because I have no reason to stay myself. The people I looked after are dead, and my sons are gone. I might as well disappear. No one needs me anymore, and the ones that do will die or abandon me soon enough," Ageni said tiredly. She didn't try to get up again.

America started to panic. She couldn't disappear. She couldn't disappear. He wasn't ready. America loved her. He didn't want her to die. Making his choice, he wrapped his arms around her, letting go when he heard her suck in a breath. Flustered, he looked down.

"I- I'll go with you. I don't know why, but I want you to be happy. Will you be happy if I go with you? " he asked, looking up at her when he finished. She hugged him.

"Yes, I'd like that very much. " she said. Matthew looked at them both awkwardly like a stranger looking in.

"And you Matthew?" She asked, offering him a hand. He stared at her intensely. When he made no move to take her hand, she lowered it.

"Mama?" Canada asked. She widened her eyes and nodded. Alfred tensed and his mind started to whirl as all the different pieces started clicking together. He'd made a horrible mistake. Alfred had come this close to forsaking his own mother.

"Took you look enough to remember, you slowpoke" Kumajiro piped up, licking his cheek. Canada rubbed his cheek .

"I'm sorry I couldn't come get you. I was very sick. I still am very sick truthfully," she said, looking up at the sky wearily. Alfred held her possessively and glared at the sky. He was having second thoughts about the guy that lived up there that Abigail told him about. God didn't seem to be a very nice guy.

"Don't worry about it, mama. I understand," Canada said, smiling for her. He liked Matthew's smile. The smile made him feel like everything would turn out okay.

"Is everything all right, Alfred?" his mom asked. He snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"I'm never going to leave you again," he vowed, wrapping his arms around her. This time he heard one of her ribs crack. She winced.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, but there will be time to get reacquainted later. We need to get out of here," she said, signaling for both of them to follow. They did, but not before taking one final look behind them. Arthur would come looking for them, and there would be no turning back, whatever the consequences may be. Canada picked up Kumajiro and turned around. America said one final silent goodbye to the lonely man and followed.

_You look confused Canada. Why did I finally remember my mother only to forget for another two centuries? You know why. I know you remember the end. You still want to hear it don't you? Of course, you do. I don't know what you think I saw that you didn't, but I'll indulge you for a little while longer. I've stayed up this long. _


	10. The End

The End

_ For five days, we rode almost non stop. When we did make camp and rest properly, it was mostly for the horse's sake. She was very determined not to run into Britain. I wish I could say we didn't. _

America devoured his fish and berries very quickly, too quickly. They didn't have to pack up and move on right away this time. For two whole days, they would be able to sleep like people instead of horses. He couldn't really sleep very well while the horse was moving, and as much as he hated having a bed time, at least in the cabin, the bed wasn't liable to throw him off and trample him if he dozed off. His mother offered him another fish. He took it gladly. America had been living off berries and nuts for days, enough to start missing scones. And, for the longest time, he honestly did believe they were rocks. His brother was still picking at his berries and ignoring the fish.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Canada wasn't all there and nodded absently. That was as much permission as America needed. He was starving. Britain fed him three times as much food in one sitting than he had received all week. He was about to take it, but Ageni's glare convinced him not to.

"Is this about the bear? We had to leave him behind. He'll catch up."

Canada shook his head and mumbled a reply. America knew he was lying. Matthew was hugging his knees in lieu of the bear. She frowned and continued to roast fish over the open fire. His brother didn't hide his lack of appetite any better. So, of course, she asked him again a few minutes later.

"Then, what's wrong?"

Canada started to cry. America rolled his eyes. And, here, Alfred thought that his brother was starting to toughen up. During the whole trip, Matthew had only cried once and that was because he almost fell off the horse. But, his mother wasn't going to ignore the crying, just like Arthur wouldn't have.

"Mom, what happens if we get caught?"

She didn't answer. Everyone knew already. It was a stupid question.

"I fight. You hide. If I don't make it, find a village nearby, they should shelter you," Ageni said.

America nodded. She always told them that. Canada wasn't convinced. He fidgeted nervously and looked around. Without the bear, he seemed petrified of being on his own. America didn't have that problem. There was always a rabbit somewhere.

"But what if we can't find one?"

Ageni smiled as if she knew a secret that the two of them didn't.

"America will know, or you will know. It depends on how far north we get," she said. America stuck out his tongue and made a face. He didn't like the cold.

"Don't you start."

Alfred switched to a smile. He knew how to fake just about any expression. When he lived with Britain, it was a skill he had to pickup quickly.

"That's better."

Again, Canada didn't seem very reassured, but he did give in and eat the fish. They mostly sat in silence. Canada continued to brood and begrudgingly eat. America mostly kept watch over the surrounding area, paranoid that Britain would appear from nowhere and take him again. Their mother stayed close and set up a tent made of animal skins that was unlike anything he had seen nearby, and yet, he was sure he had seen a shelter like that before. The small detail didn't really matter in the long run, but when his mother used an odd tool or unfamiliar word, his ignorance of such things would remind him of his long absence. America tried not to think about that and focus on the now. They were together, and he planned to keep it that way.

She had them clean up by the river later while the horse drank. This was nothing new. Ageni would not leave them unattended for very long. If she had to take a long excursion, they were obligated to follow. In a lot of ways, he was grateful for the constant watch. He was sure Britain wouldn't like him so much once he found out he came willingly. Alfred was really dreading the inevitable reunion. Yes, the horse rode fast but even a horse needed to stop eventually. Luckily, the man was very dense. Arthur wouldn't come for a while yet. With Britain's luck, the man was probably heading south instead of north.

"You've been very quiet. You're never quiet."

America faked a yawn and burrowed under the covers. Ageni didn't need to know why he was worried. They were all under enough stress after riding for so long.

"I'm tired."

The sun had set so she couldn't really object. Technically, nights were for sleeping. The change in her features was very subtle instead of thin hard line her lips curved down and her eyes didn't stare off into the distance with determination, no, they watched him with a critical eye, one he wasn't entirely comfortable with. This lie was different. She neither believed him or chastised him for what he said. Instead, she caressed his cheek and sighed.

" You're starting to grow up, and I missed it."

America choked back a sob. He wasn't sure why words could do this to him when cuts and bruises couldn't. What was so different now? Alfred could speak, but that was okay right? At least, they could talk now, and he would be able to understand her a whole lot better than he could a few decades back. He was about half her size, still young, not grown up at all. But, America knew full well that he couldn't get that time back. Britain had stolen it, and honestly, America wasn't sure if he'd give it all up if he had the chance.

"Don't cry. We still have time."

Yes, time was important. Come to think of it, Abigail and Andrew didn't leave the house that often anymore. And, Gregory spent most of his time with his wife and children now. And, anytime an old sitter stopped showing up, Arthur would say they went back to England. He figured out pretty quickly that no one ever came back from England other than Arthur himself. This wasn't the same. They would live a long time. So, no, in a sense, time wasn't important. Ugh, America didn't know anymore.

"How much time?"

Ageni coughed, and continued to do so until she noticed his frightened look. Instead of addressing the situation, she went outside presumably to throw up. She didn't come back for several hours. And with that, he realized they didn't have much time at all.

"You haven't slept at all have you?"

Alfred didn't try to deny it or hide the fact he had been crying. He'd considered his options and came to the conclusion that what he saw didn't need to be acknowledged. They had been ignoring her sickness for years. And, he could ignore it for another few decades until he found a way to make it better.

"Sleep now, I think it's best we all rest a little longer."

Her voice was raspy and she clearly hadn't slept either. Even as she said it, she was preparing to lay on the buffalo skin. They were staying longer for her benefit, not his. He wished he didn't know that. In fact, America wished he was Canada obliviously sleeping beside them, but he wasn't. So, he nodded and closed his eyes, if only to forget for a little while.

Nudge. Nudge. Nudge. Petty slap. Nudge. Urgh, he didn't want to wake up. There was something waiting for him. Whine. Whine. He tried to go farther into the covers. Finally, Canada splashed some water on him. America sat up straight and reflexively pushed Canada down. Instead of crying about it, Matthew sat there and smiled.

"There's more fish."

More fish? Good because no one ever gets tired of fish. America rubbed his eyes, feeling very groggy. There had to be something else they could get there hands on.

"That's it?"

Matthew stopped smiling and looked down at his bare feet.

"I don't think she can hunt anymore."

Oh, he'd forgotten. Natives didn't buy things from the store ( or at least, no very often.) Alfred didn't complain after that. They all ate in silence again. Ageni had caught more fish than usual and was mostly preoccupied tending to them. Instead of taking them out as soon as they were ready, she continued to smoke them as if she might like them dry and salty. The horse was the only one allowed to wander off, and even then, Ageni was weary when it disappeared for too long. The horse always came back so Alfred didn't worry about him too much. The horse was smart enough to avoid Arthur if he did happen to cross him.

Ageni's constant paranoia turned out to be fruitless. Arthur didn't come. America was relieved. He didn't want to go back, but maybe . . . he thought Arthur would at least look. After all, they had been in the same camp for more than a week. Surely, someone had noticed by now. Then again, Alfred's mind was mostly preoccupied with Ageni's worsening condition. It wasn't noticeable at first, just the usual coughing and throwing up. Then, the bumps on her face seem to spread down her neck and beyond. Eventually, she wouldn't even leave the tent. By then, Canada realized what was going on. America did everything in his power to avoid answering his questions. That never stopped Canada from asking.

"Is she going to be okay?"

America didn't know. He wasn't going to admit it. So, without paying him any mind, he picked up some more firewood. It's why they were there in the first place, and his mother would worry if they took too long. She hadn't left the tent since yesterday and neither had the horse. And yet, Canada was insisting on asking stupid questions.

"Shut up, Canada."

"You don't know."

Him knowing that made him feel worse, so, he picked up another stick and ignored him some more. What was he going to do? Turn invisible? Canada grabbed his hand.

"What are we going to do if she dies?"

America kind of wished the bear was around to indulge Canada's questions. But, he was wishing for a lot of things and nothing had really come of it. So, he didn't know why he kept trying, maybe because Abigail had insisted someone was listening.

"She isn't going to die."

And, it seemed Matthew had finally shut up. Lately that wasn't enough, America even found his footsteps irritating. He didn't move through the forest with enough ease. Canada didn't really belong here, and if America were to look at his reflection in the water, he probably looked more like a lost colonial than a native. In some ways, they kind of were lost and out of place. His mother sickness and increasing inability to take care of them wasn't helping. Alfred decided to fix that.

"I'm not sure I like it," Canada said, looking at the loose piece of hide nervously. America rolled his eyes.

"You want to put the pants back on don't you?"

Canada nodded, taking off the leather and putting his ripped and dirty pants back on. He grinned sheepishly when America glared at him. He sighed, deciding to let it go when Matthew's lip started to quiver. Alfred actually like the new arrangement. The clothes weren't so constricting. Then again, he wasn't wearing much in the first place.

America started looking for some small game, preferably something ugly. He didn't remember hunting being so hard. The animals used to come to him willingly. The only creatures that listened to him anymore were the rabbits. They never abandoned him, but for whatever reason, the forest has deemed him unworthy, and he would have to fend for himself if he wanted any sustenance. Then, there was Canada being super loud.

"Shhh, the animals can hear you."

Matthew scowled and gestured to the empty forest.

"I don't see any them lining up to get eaten," he shouted, kind of. Canada wasn't good at it yet. America dropped the makeshift bow an headed back. This was pointless if Matthew was going to keep sabotaging him. Unsurprisingly, he ran after him like a scared duckling.

"Where are you going?"

"We caught fish earlier. That will have to do," he said.

At this, Canada seemed to realize his mistake.

"Oh, I guess were having fish again."

His mother was sleeping when they returned. The horse flicked its ear and raised its head briefly when they came in before lying down again. She didn't get up, and Alfred decided to let her rest. He told Canada to stay in the tent in case she needed something and started cooking the fish. After some trial and error, he kind of knew how.

Fire used to be exciting. The flames warmed his fingers and illuminated everything near it. Having to cook ruined that, cooking fish made sitting by the fire a chore. Still, everyone needed to eat so he would put up with the fire till then.

"Alfred, Matthew, are you here?"

America didn't know why he packed up the fish first. They wouldn't be able to move out of the area fast enough for it to matter. The man wasn't being very careful. He could hear him coming closer without having to listen for his footsteps. The noise made him nervous though. He nearly dropped the fish a few times.

"America!"

Alfred flinched and tried not to make a sound. Would it even matter? Canada was sure to give them away. He never had to hide before. Even now, he could hear Matthew whimpering in the tent. That wouldn't matter if he didn't put out the fire. Since he hadn't brought water with him, he covered the fire with dirt. The man didn't call Canada's name. From what he could tell, Arthur was trying to find their camp.

"Alfred? Matthew?"

The man didn't shout this time. He didn't sound very sure of himself. Alfred didn't know how to pack up the tent properly so he decided against strapping it to the horse like his mother did. A little nervous, he tried his best to coax the horse out of the tent without whistling. The horse stared at him and so did Canada. The only different between the two was that Matthew looked absolutely miserable.

"What are we going to do?"

He didn't know, but he wasn't going to tell Canada that.

"You wake her up. I'll distract him."

Canada grabbed his arm, and America sighed. He thought Matthew might panic. His brother had been on the verge of tears since he came in.

"That's a stupid plan. She won't leave without you."

"He doesn't know where we are yet. It'll buy us some time."

"But-" Canada said.

"Trust me."

_It was a stupid plan. I figured he'd go easy on me. I was mistaken. _

"There you are, America. I'm glad I found you."

America frowned, a little annoyed by the man's words. Alfred had come to him, not the other way around. He kept his distance, waiting for the man to make a move. Arthur didn't come any closer. He was surprisingly patient today. Any other time, he would have snatched him up already.

"Where is your brother?"

That single question spoke volumes. Britain wasn't being kind for kindness sake. He simply wanted Alfred to tell him where Matthew was before trying anything. America could work with that.

"You lost him too?"America piped up.

Britain was understandably shocked by the reply. Obviously, Canada running off on his own was kind of a stretch, but it was plausible enough to make Arthur nervous.

"Be serious, did he come with you or not?"

"It doesn't matter."

They wouldn't be sticking around anyway. And if he worked his cards right, he would be joining them shortly.

"Well, at least, I found you."

Wow, Britain still thought he was a good boy. America would have to let him know that wasn't the case then, because he certainly wasn't kidnaped by Indians if that was what he was thinking.

"That's nice. I'm not going with you though."

Britain's calm exterior was rapidly disintegrating, in it's place was the angry interior that eventually showed itself given the opportunity. Arthur's scowling face was a familiar sight, but somehow, he seemed far more sinister than before. The pistol on his person probably had something to do with it.

"I can't believe you'd turn on me so easily. What did that devil woman tell you?"

"She says you're the reason I have to wear pants."

"Of all the asinine things you could have come up with, you're sticking with that?"

And, the answer did really seem to baffle him. His confusion was enough to make him forget how easily he could close the distance between them and catch him. Alfred wasn't about to remind him.

"Yes, I don't think you'd like the real reason," Alfred said.

America didn't really think he could understand it. Logic dictated that at this point in his life Ageni was a relative stranger compared to Britain which he spent the majority of his life with and even tried to emulate. And from the look on Arthur's face, he had begun to realize that this wouldn't be an easy retrieval like he'd imagined.

"Tell me, perhaps, I can clarify some things."

To America, it sounded more like, let me tell you why you're wrong. Still, Alfred wanted him to understand. After all, Arthur wasn't a bad man. Maybe, if he explained it right, Britain would leave on his own.

"She's my mother. Do you know what it's like to forget your mother?"

Britain seemed lost in thought for a second. If America had to guess, he'd hit a sore spot. His answer wasn't encouraging.

"You get over it."

The man didn't seem all that reasonable after he heard that. Arthur didn't want to see things Alfred's way. Instead, he simply expected Alfred to come with him one way or another.

"I can't come back," Alfred said, mostly in response to the man rapidly closing the distance between them. Apparently, Britain planned to take him, with or without Canada. America's confession had simply prompted him to act.

"Why not? You live with me. I've fed and clothed you for the last couple of decades, and yet, you decide to go with this woman on a whim because you think she might be your mother. "

Arthur had a firm grip on his shoulders, and the fact he still towered over him after so many years made him feel so incredibly small. There had to be a way to make him listen.

"She is."

It didn't matter if it wasn't obvious. All he knew was that before Britain, she was the one he cried to, and that was proof enough for America.

"You don't even look the same."

Alfred had told her the same thing. He still felt horrible about it. So, he didn't want Arthur saying it too. America's eyes went unwittingly to Britain's eyebrows.

"We don't either."

The man looked hurt and didn't say anything at first. Alfred knew he probably shouldn't have brought it up, but he wasn't wrong. The man lifted him up, a dark look crossing his face. A strange light started coming out of his hand.

"This is about the eyebrows isn't it? Well, I can take care of that right now," Britain said. Alfred squirmed but try as he might Britain wasn't letting go. He vaguely remembered escaping some other way when he was younger. It had something to do with leather. Since he couldn't make sense of it, he concentrated on forcing Britain's hand open.

"America, you do not run off like that."

Darn, Ageni went after him. Alfred stopped struggling and sighed. This wasn't the plan. Okay, so, his plan wasn't going so great but still . . .

"You two were supposed to escape."

"I wasn't going to leave you."

Ageni's bow was aimed right at Arthur which under normal circumstances would have made the man nervous. This wasn't one of those times. Ageni tried hard to steady her breathing, but she continued to pant heavily and lean against the tree. Britain's smirked. This wasn't his mother's finest hour. She might hit him or she might miss, but odds were he could dodge the attack either way. Then again, the man didn't have to do a thing. While Arthur had Alfred, Ageni wouldn't shoot.

Canada appeared behind their mom, holding the bear. (Kumajiro must have caught up with them the same way Britain had.) And well, Matthew looked about ready to strangle him.

"I told you it was a stupid plan."

America stuck his tongue out, and Canada had the nerve to do the same thing.

"Ah, the devil woman, it's been a while. Considering the circumstances, I'd be more than happy to leave you alone once you return Matthew."

The man knew that he could win a direct confrontation and didn't even try to hide his smugness. Ageni stood a little taller and aimed a little higher. Britain didn't bat an eye. She still wouldn't shoot, and they both knew it. Even her answer was obvious to them both.

"No."

Arthur sighed like she was being a horrible inconvenience and looked at her scarred face.

"You're sick."

As true as that was, he might as well have called her a devil woman again. She switched her target and shot at his exposed legs. Britain easily dodged the attack with unprecedented speed. The man held him tightly and scowled at her. His mother knocked another arrow, not the least bit concerned. Ageni knew the arrow was unlikely to hit America and had taken her chances. Alfred was trying his best not to move and ruin his mother's shot.

"If you think that gives you the right to take them, you're sadly mistaken," she said, aiming a little higher his time. Alfred flinched, unsure what would happen. His mother was a good shot, but there was no accounting for Arthur's stupidity. The man tapped his shoulder. He looked up and saw the man had caught the arrow. His mother hadn't put enough force into the shot. That was the only way he could have caught it.

"I can wait you out. The small pox will kill you eventually."

He snapped the arrow in half, making sure to keep eye contact with Ageni. The message was quite clear. Even if the disease doesn't get you, I could kill you anyway. His mother ignored the threat and answered haughtily.

"I've been like this for years. You may have to wait a couple of decades."

Ageni's smile reassured Alfred, but just as quickly, the situation changed. His mother dropped her bow and started coughing. Arthur didn't reach for his revolver as Alfred expected and dreaded. Instead, he walked over to where Ageni was. Matthew's first instinct was to shield their mother before Arthur tried anything.

Britain didn't seem to mind Canada's interference. Arthur outright ignored him and grabbed hold of Ageni's chin and forced her to look up.

"Really? From the looks of things, I won't have to wait much longer."

"Shut up," Alfred said, slapping him. There was only so much he could take. Arthur released his mother's chin and touched his own cheek. He clearly hadn't expected it after Alfred had been so quiet and complacent. When he looked at Alfred again, Arthur tried his best to smile.

"America, the adults are talking."

Alfred from a very young age had been taught to wait quietly when Arthur had company over. As far as Alfred was concerned, this didn't count. His mother could die, and Arthur was being very mean about it.

"I don't want her to die."

Alfred burst into tears, and he instinctually tried to wipe the tears away. Arthur didn't like it when he cried and some part of him remembered he would get yelled at if he didn't stop. Officially distracted, Arthur rocked him.

"Don't be so dramatic. I haven't touched her. If she does die, it's God's will," he said.

The man clearly thought he was being comforting, but one very important detail caught Alfred's attention.

"He kills people?"

Arthur blanched, completely losing his confident persona. This was the first time since the confrontation started that he panicked.

"Okay, I know how that sounded but-"

"Maybe you can share?" Matthew asked, tugging Arthur's pants timidly. Britain didn't even seem to realize that this was a good opportunity to take them both. Arthur crouched down and put a hand on Canada's shoulder.

"I'm trying to explain to your brother that God is not a killer. Give me a minute," he said. Ageni laughed in the background. Arthur glared at her briefly before returning his attention to Alfred who was still a sobbing mess.

"Why do you even talk to him then? " he asked. Surely, he didn't talk to evil spirits. Even if he hadn't know he was talking to some at the time, the ones he had talked to in the garden had seemed fairly harmless.

"Because I- "

Ageni kicked him hard. Arthur inadvertently let go and cradled his stomach. Alfred ran back to her. Canada walked most of the way and only ran when Arthur reached for his foot. The bear smacked him in the face when he tried again, and Arthur sat up straight so the bear wouldn't be able to slap him so easily. Kumajiro growled and showed off his teeth. Arthur looked at Matthew and Alfred with unfamiliar hatred.

"Ungrateful little brats."

Ageni wrapped her arms around Alfred and Matthew and the small gesture helped calm them both. They weren't used to being the target of Arthur's wrath. When he did get angry at them, America and Canada knew they were in serious trouble. Alfred had to fight the urge to grovel for forgiveness. Matthew was shaking so he was probably experiencing the same thing.

"I think it's quite clear who they want to stay with." And, it was, both of them were holding onto her for dear life. Matthew and Alfred might be afraid of Arthur's wrath, but they weren't going to go back willingly.

"They're young. They don't know any better." he said more to himself than to her. She still answered back.

"I could say the same about you."

Neither Arthur or Ageni moved. His mother couldn't, and from the looks of it, Arthur was calculating his next move. This made Alfred uneasy. The man wasn't particularly bright, but he had a way with words.

"We are not going to come to an agreement are we?" His face remained passive, but he sounded tired. For a minute, Alfred honestly thought the man had made a rational decision. He was mistaken. Arthur pulled out his revolver.

"I have the children. You wouldn't shoot,"she said, holding them closer.

"You're diseased. I'm not letting you take them," he said.

His mother showed signs of doubt, but her stubbornness won out. Alfred was glad. He hated when Arthur played this game, especially since he tended to win. America had lost count of how many times he'd been talked into going to bed early of his own freewill.

"They'll be fine."

"You don't know that. Alfred stopped having close contact with you when I came along, and Matthew was definitely nowhere near you, then. For all I know, you've already infected them," he said, eyeing them both. Matthew started feeling his face for boils. Alfred smacked his brother's cheek. He would not let the paranoia set in. Ageni reacted better than expected. She answered coolly.

"Then, you have no reason to want them."

Britain locked eyes with her. And, Alfred had a bad feeling. If the man wasn't angry, then, he must have a good argument ready. He always had the expression just before outwitting France.

"Are you that selfish?"

Ah, his favorite argument, Alfred knew it well. He'd been accused of being selfish countless of times. So many times in fact, it was starting to lose it's affect. America wasn't sure how his mother would react. Luckily, if anything, the accusation made Ageni madder.

"You come into my territory, take land we already cultivated, and steal from the dead. The only selfish one here is you," she snapped. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes because it makes perfect sense to pass up land that is barely being used, and I'm not counting the times when the places were deserted. Face it, There aren't many of you left." Britain said. Ageni stood abruptly, hastily grabbing her bow. He'd struck a nerve. His mother had tears streaming down her face.

"Get out. I don't want you here anymore."

If only it were that simple, the man still had the gun and didn't show any signs that he planned to leave anytime soon. They might stand by her, but Arthur wasn't going to stop hounding them because she asked. The man was used to getting what he wanted.

"I'm here to stay. Now, I could take the children now and spare them your traumatizing death or you can cling to them as you slowly become a corpse."

Ageni aimed her bow, and Arthur laughed. He tossed the revolver aside and left himself wide open. She didn't understand why. And, he didn't either. What was that idiot doing? He was going to get himself killed.

"Go ahead and shoot," he said. Ageni didn't hesitate and knocked another arrow. Alfred didn't like where this was going. Why did they have to kill each other? They could leave right now without anyone getting hurt. She released the arrow, and Britain didn't manage to catch it this time. The arrow struck, and Arthur fell to the ground. Matthew stood by their mother in shock. Alfred ran to him.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

America looked him over. There wasn't any blood, and Britain didn't seem to be in any pain. When Alfred took out the arrow, it came out too easily. He grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt and ripped it open so he could take a better look. The man had a pillow in his shirt. The only real casualty was the stupid pillow. Arthur had only pretended to be hit. His mother watched from a distance, face unreadable.

"I'm fine," he said, grabbing hold of him. America's brain wasn't working. Part of him wanted to cry and the other part wanted to punch Arthur in the face. The man rubbed his back, and Alfred clutched the remains of his shirt. Why would the man trick him like that?

Canada recovered from his initial shock and ran to the man. He first hugged Arthur's leg and then, proceeded to hit him with his tiny fists. Britain bent down to pick him up. Since his brother hadn't know him very long, Matthew ran back to Ageni. Arthur frowned but let it go.

"Like it or not, America does care for me. So, you can give him to me while you throw up what remains of your insides or give him to someone he doesn't know and add to his distress when your gone," he said, and Alfred tried to speak up, but Arthur shushed him. He sniffed and slowly became aware of what the man was trying to do. He started fussing, but the man gave him a candy and effectively silenced him.

Ageni's first move was to grab hold of Matthew after he ran back. Then, she looked back at Alfred and watched as Arthur placated him with relative ease. His mother was about to reply when she threw up again. Britain didn't say a word, but she still glared at him.

"And why should I trust you?"

It was a valid question. The man was a horrible liar. He got his way by force and tricked Alfred into living with him. He had also attacked her before and had threatened her recently. In that regard, Britain didn't have much of a defense, but there was a reason the man had such a strong influence on Alfred. The man could take advantage of anything said and twist the meaning of words. Arthur always figured out the best way to win.

"Because he does," Britain said, kissing America's forehead. Alfred covered his head and scowled at the man. He didn't like being used. Still, his mother had seen him run to Britain, and it strengthened her resolve. Ageni sighed and gave Matthew to Arthur, albeit by force. Canada didn't want to go.

"I hate you , but I can't keep going on like this. You will keep chasing us, and I need time to recover. Please take care of America and Canada until I can come back for them. "

America couldn't believe it. Their mother was going to leave them with Britain after they tried so hard to escape. He reached out to her, and Ageni grabbed his hand, and Canada took the opportunity to latch onto her neck.

" I wanted to take you both with me, but it's become clear that my sickness has taken its toll on my body. I've watched you from afar. I know at the very least you will be safe with him."

Canada tried to force himself out of Britain's grip by using his hold on their mother's neck to pull himself out. Ageni removed Matthew's hand from her neck after she had Alfred let go of her hand. Together they probably could have freed themselves, but Arthur and Ageni overpowered them. Both in agreement for once. It was scary. Things weren't supposed to go this way. Arthur wasn't supposed to win. Ageni shouldn't give up, not when they both remembered her.

"Don't go."

"I'll come back for you both. I promise."

He shook his head. His mother was a liar too. She picked up her bow and walked away. They both struggled to break free, but Arthur whistled a deceptively happy tune and kept going, even when they both bit him.

"Well, it looks like you picked up America's nasty habit," he said cheerfully. He gave Canada a candy, momentarily confusing him. Arthur couldn't do much other than withstand their assaults. They were still children, but they were getting to the age were carrying them was no longer practical. Britain, however, was stronger and willing to ignore what happened to him provided they could make it to camp. They started crying for lack of a better solution. Ageni wouldn't ignore the crying, right? She'd come back.

"Hush now, what's done is done, she can't take care of you anymore, even she realized that. Or do you want her to feel horrible for trying to get better so she can see you two again without constantly throwing up on the both of you?"

Canada stopped crying first. He pointed to the bear following them.

"Yes, he can come too. I'll . . . figure something out."

America slapped him again.

"It's all your fault. Don't try to blame this on us. You made her go away. We were fine without you."

"Is that why she gave you up so easily? Or, maybe, she realized she was better off without both of you."

No, that wasn't true. They took care of each other. It would have worked out if she had given them a chance to be together instead of giving in. He wasn't a burden. Canada spoke up.

"Then, why did she shoot you so many times and tell you to go away?"

"Adults are complicated."

"I think you just want us to shut up because you can't stand us being mad at you."

"Of course, I don't want you two to be angry with me. If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have come looking for you two."

America guessed he was a tiny bit glad that Britain had come looking for him. (Canada has obviously been an afterthought.) No, the man was trying to trick him again.

"I'm still mad at you."

For some reason, Britain seemed awfully amused. He nodded, and the desperate attempts at escape continued. Somehow, Arthur remained remarkably collected. And, then, they reached Arthur's camp, and Alfred realized why the man had been so confident. France was there. He'd just lost Canada. Britain let Canada reunite with France however briefly.

"Papa!"

He hugged Francis momentarily forgetting why he wanted to run away in the first place.

"Oh, Matthew, why did you run away? I told you things would work out if you gave Arthur a chance."

Canada nodded, accepting the scolding. Alfred frowned, annoyed by the new situation. France clearly didn't know that Canada hadn't merely run away because he was upset with Britain. He was going to fix that.

"Our mom came back and Arthur made her go away."

France's smile faded, and he turned to Britain looking disappointed.

"We talked about this, no?"

"That woman is diseased. She isn't going to last much longer so she gave them back to me. It is as simple as that. "

Francis nodded in acceptance although he still didn't seem that happy about it. Canada rode with France, and Britain seemed remarkably okay with that. America guessed that he was fine with it if the brief interaction guaranteed Canada's cooperation. Alfred found he really didn't want to leave without Matthew. So, in a sense, Britain had neutralized them both. The farther they traveled, the more restless America became.

How would he ever find his way back?

"Alfred, did you miss me at all?"

He shook his head. Britain laughed, and America stuck his tongue at him. Arthur pinched his cheek, and he was too afraid of falling of the horse to retaliate effectively. He tried to make himself smaller so Arthur would stop teasing him.

"I missed you."

Alfred nodded, oddly reassured when the man ruffled his hair.

_Did I mention how manipulative Britain can be? And well, after a while, you accepted what happened pretty easily. I didn't. I went looking for her. I wish I didn't. _

Okay, so, maybe, Canada had a point about him always making stupid plans. He didn't know where they were going. Which way was north again?

"We're lost aren't we?"

He should probably admit it so they could figure out where to go.

"No, I'd tell you if we were lost."

The bear nipped him.

"Liar. Kumajiro said so."

Alfred gave him a scathing look. Maybe, he was lying but did he have to take the bear's word for it?

"You believe the bear?"

Canada nodded wholeheartedly. America sighed.

"We're lost."

Matthew narrowed his eyes at him.

"I knew it. We should have waited for her to come back."

"She isn't coming back."

"How do you know?"

"Because she didn't come back for you," Alfred snapped. Matthew didn't talk after that and followed Alfred blindly. Damn, he didn't want to make him feel bad.

"I'm sure it wasn't because she didn't want to."

From the look on Canada's face, that possibility hadn't even occurred to him. Alfred shut up. He was making things worse.

_We wandered around the area for quite a while. Against all odds, my sense of direction kicked in and I found her. Unfortunately, I lost Canada in the process._

"Mom?" He wasn't sure. She looked like his mother, but the person was thin and listless. His mother had been strong. This person was weak.

His mother nodded and on closer inspection, she was lying on the horse's side. The horse rested beside her the with its ears back, flicking its tail back and forth. This wasn't a good sign, and neither was the near silence of the forest.

"You shouldn't have come back."

He sat down next to her and wondered when she had started resembling a husk of corn. Last time, she hadn't seemed so far gone. Had their absence made things worse ? She didn't try to touch him, and he didn't try touch her. He might break her.

"I wasn't going to leave you."

Ageni smiled, but it reminded America of a wrinkled sac. How much older was she now? She seemed to have aged prematurely. His mother's stare was worse - hollow, sad, regretful. Alfred couldn't bare to look at her anymore.

"Everything comes to an end."

"We never had a start."

Her laugh, rare, deep, and beautiful had been replaced by a cynical raspy echo. She patted his head and stroked his face. Only the horse's steady breathing brought him any comfort. The horse was healthy and strong. His mother was practically a skeleton now.

"I'm afraid there's nothing left to start, Ayashe. You're on a different path. Before I go, I need you to do me one favor."

That name, he'd heard it before. Yes, that was his old name, long forgotten. All the same, Alfred nodded. He'd do anything she wanted.

"When I disappear, don't forget me."

America had seen bodies go cold. So, he waited for her to stiffen and die as he had seen countless others do before. Ageni did not slowly fade away like humans were prone to do. His mother crumbled into dust and was swept up by the wind without any warning. The horse rose, and Alfred was forced to move away from the creature. It ran in circles looking for her. America didn't even try. Something inside him broke, and he laid down on the grass, hoping he would crumble away too.

"Alfred? Where are you? This isn't funny."

_ I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye. _

His brother found him laying there and realized immediately something was off. Kumajiro did too as he seemed ready to slap him but lowered his paw once he got a good look at his eyes. The bear licked him and laid down next to him, uncharacteristically still.

"Get up. We have to find mom."

Alfred shook his head. Matthew gaped, still not getting why. He kicked Alfred in the stomach. America simply turned around. Canada kept hitting him with his tiny fists.

"What is wrong with you?"

"She's gone. I saw her go."

Canada sat down and grabbed hold of the bear. Kumajiro didn't complain even when he was being squeezed harder than ever before. They all stayed huddled together as the horse circled them and neighed. Eventually, Canada mumbled something. America didn't care to hear it. His brother shook him. Alfred didn't respond.

"What happened?"

"What do you think?"

Canada eyes widened and he bit his lip. For a minute, he simply sat there with a hand on America's shoulder before shaking him again.

"What happened?"

"I can't say anything. I don't want to remember."

He'd never seen Canada so frustrated. His brother grunted angrily and buried his face into the bear's fur. America couldn't bring himself to care. They were all just going to turn to dust someday anyway. Someone came for them. The man that always came for them. What was his name again? Alfred was having a hard time recalling.

He was a nice man as far as Alfred could tell. He helped calm the horse and buried the lady's things. When Canada kept shaking him, the man told him to cut it out. And, then, the man asked him a question.

"Did you see her die?"

America blinked stupidly. Did he mean the lady?

"Yes," he decided. Apparently, they were all dead inside though. If he gave up right now, he'd probably crumble into dust too.

"Are you okay?"

He wasn't wrinkly and bruised like the lady so he figured that he should be.

"Yes?"

The man frowned and asked him a very simple question.

"What is my name?"

Uh . . . The man?

"I don't know."

"Canada, your brother is in shock. Get on the horse, we're leaving. "

His brother tried to do what he was told, but he wasn't sure how to get on the horse, and the horse didn't want him to get on in the first place. So, Britain took him by the shoulders and told him something very important.

"I'm Britain. You live with me. We're going home. Are you okay with that?"

He nodded. Why wouldn't he be? He didn't like the forest. It was too quiet. The silence seemed wrong. There was something here before . . .

Britain rather clumsily tried to calm the horse again. The horse didn't seem to like him very much. Since he needed the help, America stepped up and petted the horse's muzzle. The horse immediately calmed down. The man didn't seem very comfortable riding bareback, but they managed to get home okay. Apparently, they hadn't come very far at all. America wasn't sure why they had left in the first place. Maybe to retrieve the horse?

The man helped them get down. They waited while he attempted to get the horse in the stable. Alfred had to step in again.

"You're good with horses," Britain said when the horse went in on his own. He wasn't sure if it was a complement or not, so he simply nodded. Britain opened the door for them. His brother wouldn't let go of the bear so Britain allowed it inside. The man- Britain went to work making food. His brother sat on the floor beside the door, deep in thought. America sat in the kitchen as Britain cooked. When he finished, he offered him some meat and bread.

"Do you remember anything?"

He sounded worried. Alfred shook his head and took the meat. The man sat next to him even though he hadn't made any food for himself.

"You can call me Arthur if you prefer," Britain said. Oh, Arthur and Alfred, that made sense, he nodded, eating without really tasting the food.

"Can you try remembering something for me?"

Alfred frowned. Someone had asked him to remember them. Maybe, it was this man. The house used to be empty, only a few chairs and some kitchen tools. The man locked the door and . . . He tugged the man's sleeve. Arthur seemed hopeful.

"Yes?"

"Did I always live here?"

The man didn't look at him when he answered.

"Yes, you've always lived with me."

Alfred would have argued that the house used to be empty, but he figured the man knew more than him. So, he nodded and tried to think of something else. Matthew and Kumajiro had moved in recently. He knew that for sure. The man had to be their caretaker. He came looking for them an fed him, at least. He tugged the man's sleeve again.

"Get Matthew something to eat," he said. Britain had a stroke of realization and hastily served Canada some food. His brother refused to get up from the floor. Arthur let it slide this time. America watched feeling out of place. What was so bad about the floor?

"I'm sorry I forgot you were here," Arthur said. Matthew shot him a dirty look and ate his meat.

"So, Alfred, please tell me you remember me," he begged. Alfred wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to lie, but if it made the man happy . . .

"Yes, Arthur. You're my brother right?" he guessed. They were both blond so that was as good a guess as any. Britain liked his answer well enough although he seemed skeptical of him still.

"I suppose that will do for now. You've had a hard day. Why don't you go rest?" Arthur suggested. Sleep seemed like a good idea. He wasn't sure what else he could do right now. Matthew followed him

"Are you going to tell me what happened now? Did she say anything? Did she mention me?' Canada asked in rapid succession. America shrugged.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Why else would you agree to go to bed at three o'clock? The sun is still out."

Oh, he hadn't even thought of that. It might be hard to sleep with the sun filtering through. Still, he didn't really have an answer to his brother's questions. So, he lied.

"I'm tired." Mostly, he was numb, but it's the same thing, right?

Strangely, Matthew stopped following him. He let the bear go, a first since he had picked Kuma up in the forest. Never had he seen him so disappointed, not that he'd known him very long at all. Right now, America barely knew himself.

"You don't remember, do you?"

America shook his head. He really didn't.

"I'm sorry. Maybe, I'll tell you later if I remember. Remind me," he said, closing the door on his brother. If he didn't remember, it must have not been very important. The last thing he heard when he closed his eyes was his brother quietly sobbing outside his door. America pulled the blanket over his head and tuned him out. He was always such a crybaby.

_I buried the memories deep down, and I more or less forgot as the days passed. With only little traces of me ever acknowledging what happened. I was damn insistent on keeping the horse, no matter what. Britain was always trying to make me get rid of him, especially since I would ride him bareback all over the place. And, the rabbits would still come to me when I called. I could even tell them apart from each other after a while. But, the thing that terrified Britain the most was when I would wander into the forest where the old village used to be without knowing why. So, that's everything you could possibly want to know. Now, if you excuse me, I think I'll go. The sun's come up. _


End file.
